


single parents are not missing anything or anyone, thank you very much

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Domestic, Erik is repentant, M/M, They're like a divorced couple forced to interact nicely in front of the kids, and charles is an independent single mother who does not need this right now, but charles is not pleased
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Honestly, Charles is a single mother with, like, 20 kids to take care of, he absolutely does NOT need a man to take care of him, and ESPECIALLY not one named Erik Lehnsherr. He's done ENOUGH, thank you very much. I was talking to a friend, and we agreed, Erik and Charles met, fell in love, went on a honeymoon, adopted a bunch of kids and then Erik bailed to "find himself" and world domination. Like, how typical of a man.





	1. In Which Charles Does Not Need Erik Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kids are the kids from X-Men evolution. It makes no sense. I know. Just don't worry about it. 
> 
> Also, Apocalypse never happened. Because I didn't like that one. 
> 
> So...imagine Logan is helping out at the mansion, Hank is a professor, Mystique is sort of a babysitter, and maybe some other characters will show up, I dunno.
> 
> Also, I'm not planning on writing smut, but...things happen sometimes, plan or no plan. We'll see. I haven't done it in a while, I'm an old man, and I might've lost some of my edge, don't know what the kids find sexy anymore. But we'll see.

Raven was away that day. 

She'd gone into the city with a flimsy excuse he hadn't heard over the sound of his 1954 Cadillac as it roared through the gates of the property. 

Typical. 

She was a lovely caregiver, yes, fun and spirited, yes, quirky and energetic, yes, just childish enough to connect with her core audience, yes, but a responsible adult?

Well.  

That fell on him. 

Today he'd actually gotten more warning than usual. She'd actually yelled to him through the rolled down window that she would be back before the weekend was up and not to wait up as she revved the engine.

Normally he'd be looking for her and find a note hastily pinned to the fridge or crumpled up somewhere in his sock drawer or even one time written almost illegibly on a sticky note stuck on his grandfather clock the morning of spring break.

That's how she typically warned him. 

He doesn't hold it against her, though. 

These weren't HER damn kids. 

And she hadn't even volunteered for this, she'd been KIND enough to lend him a hand and he was grateful for her help at all. 

It's a lot of work for one person to manage, but he thinks he's managing just fine. 

It helps that he knows immediately when Bobby is throwing snowballs in the house. Or when Kitty is trying to skip classes, darting through walls and trying to evade him, (and that heart-stopping moment when she accidentally fallen into the basement and he'd been flooded with both her fear and his own). Or when Scott accidentally knocked the satellite dish off the roof when Jean had been throwing baseballs at him to blast for practice. 

He shudders at the thought of being a normal parent, only knowing when their child's done something bad after they've done it. 

He's grown adept at reading guilt from a mile away. 

Which is why it's such a surprise, that day when Raven is away, when she would not be back until next week, when Jean is away on a Girl Scout trip, when Scott is on a fishing trip with Bobby and Jamie, when Kitty and Kurt are in the city, seeing a movie, and when everyone else who could be forced to deal with him is gone, that the man he did not need in his life manages to show up on his doorstep completely and utterly unannounced and unexpected, and catch him, an omega class telepath, by surprise. 

* * *

He'd been in one of the living rooms, the news report quietly humming in the background, his students' work sprawled over the table, messier than he would like, his coffee in one hand, a red pen and a black pen in the other, and his lazy T-shirt and baggy cargo pants on. 

The windows are open, letting in a decent little summer breeze, and he's idly thinking that maybe he'll let Logan or Hank take the kids outside for a training session instead of in the Danger Room for once, when he hears the knock. 

He freezes. 

He knows almost immediately now that he's focused, now that he's alarmed, who it is. 

He's not sure if the metal he smells is real or imagined, if that metallic taste in his mouth is a Pavlovian response to his presence. 

He just knows that he can smell it briefly, like the whiff of a camp fire or a barbecue pit smoldering. 

_Char-_

Shut up. 

Shut up, Charles thinks without projecting, shutting down  _his_ projection. 

I don't want to talk. 

 

He waits, frozen in his lazy outfit, looking like a dirty messy hippie more than a professor, his hair in disarray, his shit all over the table, knowing that his visitor can and will unlock that door and walk right in. 

Go on. 

Do it. 

Unlock the door and walk in. 

It's not like the door can stop you, it's not like I can stop you, it's not like anyone can really stop you from doing anything if you really want to do it...

Erik. 

But the door handle doesn't turn. 

Charles tentatively reaches out, worried that he will feel it, but the man is waiting patiently at the door, making no attempt to open the door, leave, or even ring the doorbell. 

He's just standing there, stock still, with more patience and fortitude than Charles would ever believe him capable of. 

Rash, impulsive, passionate man that he is. 

Dignified, educated, witty and prone to wry comments, a perfect gentleman when he wanted, but burning below the surface, a certain intensity and inability to lose ground, to negotiate a compromise. 

Why isn't he shoving his way in now, what is he doing out there?

Again, Charles wants to delve into his mind, but he holds back. He actually has to actively resist coming anywhere close to that mind for fear of falling in by habit. 

It had always been so easy to slip inside, so second nature, so natural. They used to have conversations so energetic and thoughtful that they would have entirely telepathic conversations just to save time...just because they had so much to say to one another that it felt like they didn't have the time to wait for their mouths to catch up.  

But they aren't what they used to be, are they, and he is no longer welcome there. 

So he refuses to go to him mentally, or even physically, just stubbornly continues to grade papers while the man waits in a decidedly un-Erik-like manner outside on his step. 

He refuses to go out to meet him. 

Erik refuses to go in to meet him. 

As the time passes, anger actually begins to take hold of his hand, forcing it to tremble as he's writing an A on Jean's paper on Gregor Mendel. 

Same as always, the two of them. 

Erik refuses to come in, he refuses to come out, well, if he has to be the adult about this...

He drops his fountain pen on the table and tries to pat the wrinkles out of his shirt, but fails miserably. 

He gathers what dignity he can in his fratboy clothing and insomniac hair and reaches for the handle himself. 

He pulls the door open. 

"Are you going to lurk out there all day, Erik?" he asks sharply. "Or are you going to come  _inside_ to waste my time?"

"Good to see you too, old friend," the man he did not need says with a regretful smile. 

Charles wants to punch him again. 

But no, nope, he is a professor, a host, and a benefactor, he is an ADULT, and Erik is just another adult, a businessman, if you please, and they are simply acquaintances. 

There is no reason this has to be hard. 

Whatever this is. 

"What can I do for you...old friend?" Charles says as calmly as he can back. He doesn't step back to invite him in, but the man seems comfortable enough outside, making no move to walk in. 

"...I...just thought I'd visit," the man he did not need says, smiling a little uneasily. Charles is briefly reminded of how he used to smile, all teeth, eyes ecstatic as he- nope, nope, lock it down. Fat lot of a good it did him, anyway, teaching him how to use his powers properly. 

"Well, I'm very busy," Charles says stiffly. 

The man eyes his rumpled shirt and fratboy pants. 

"Clearly."

That smug, sarcastic tone, how he hated, hated, hated that condescending tone, it made him want to lash out irrationally and air out- 

No, no, nope, lock it down. 

"You'll have to leave," Charles says shortly. 

"That's alright," the man he did not need says with a slightly more genuine smile, tight-lipped and more of a grimace than a smile as he looked down on him. How Charles hated his superior height and his thick arms and his broad shoulders and his perfect hair. "I can wait."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"Why bother?" the professor says a little more harshly. 

"Because what I have to say will take much longer than a minute or two and if you're busy, then I don't want to waste a lot of your time," the man bites his lip as he finishes his sentence. Charles hastily glares at his hands instead. 

Although- 

No. No, not thinking of what those hands are capable of, unless you of course count dropping stadiums on people. 

"Well that's all and well," Charles says with a forced smile. "But you're crowding the space other guests deserve to occupy more than you. So if you must wait, then wait somewhere more suitable, like perhaps a highway overhang or a prison made of plastic somewhere." 

Harsh. So harsh he winces a little to himself, wondering why he hadn't just said "a zoo" or something more mundane. 

But if it gets him off his property...

No such luck. 

The man still stares at him, something like amusement in his totally unremarkable, dull blue eyes which are not making his stomach do flips. 

In fact, it's a little queasy. There's a little storm raging inside of it. 

One that might just come out if Erik insists on standing there, staring at him like he wants to do something crazy, but maybe Charles can't read him anymore, maybe his "crazy" look is his default, maybe the intensity in his gaze is how he looks at everyone and everything, friend or foe, and which of those is he, anyway, what day is it? What day is it, because he knows Erik can't decide from day to day what he thinks of him, just that he DOESN'T need Charles, not on his team, not on his side, not in his life, because he LEFT and never bothered to keep up. 

And now he's back, for some reason, on his doorstep, looking for all the world like he's a lost traveler looking for something. 

Like he needs something. 

Well that's too bad. 

It's too late and he's too busy for this, he has children to look after and teach to love and protect one another like teammates, friends, and family. 

"Come in," Charles says, trying to make his voice as smooth and unaffected as possible. 

No harm in letting him in. 

What can he really do that he hasn't done already?

"Are you sure?" the man he did not need says with some surprise, like he'd been expecting more resistance. 

"This is my property," Charles says in what he hopes is a cool and sophisticated voice. "Why wouldn't I be sure?"

"Charles..." he tilts his head, a little exasperated. 

The man doesn't blink as he backs up, letting the other man inside his house again. 

"I am busy," Charles repeats. "But I have more than enough time to deal with you."

The man he did not need winces, just slightly, just a little twitch of the mouth, a little downward quirk. But it's not horribly obvious and Charles can read very little of what it means. And he doesn't really want to anyway. 

"Well, I don't know if I can make this 'quick', Charles-"

"You'd better," Charles says. "Because I'm not giving you any _more_ of my time." 

The bitterness is there. 

Well damn, he just can't keep it out of his voice.

Erik blinks. 

"Well...first, I'm going to need to stay here."

"What?" Charles asks indignantly. 

"If I only have a short amount of time, I need some time to plan ahead, make every second of my allotted time count," Erik says, so fluidly and collectedly that Charles envisions taking control of his stupid perfectly shaped head and making him jump into the fountain. 

But he has to set an example for his kids and that kind of childish nonsense isn't what he wants his children to use their powers for.

"And you what, burned down your last apartment?" Charles quirks an eyebrow at him. 

"It managed to escape my tenancy unscathed," Erik replies. 

"If only we were all so lucky," Charles says darkly, though he regrets it just a little, since he's supposed to not care that the man he did not need is here. 

"...Charles-" but he sounds like he's going to say something stupid, something very un-Erik-like, and Charles really, really doesn't want to hear it, nor does he want to respond to the light projecting he's feeling him doing, the little hesitant probe of inquiry he feels jabbing at the surface of his mind. 

"You can stay, but pick a room as far as possible from the kids," Charles says quickly, interrupting him. "And from me."

As childish as it was to add that last part, he still feels a rush of juvenile satisfaction at the brief flare of hurt that he senses. 

But it's a short-lived victory as he realizes that he loses ground every time he lets Erik know that his presence doesn't mean a _bsolutely nothing_ to him. 

"Ok," Erik says simply. 

"Ok," Charles retorts. "Dinner's not for a while."

"Ok," the man grimaces again. "Understood."

"Good. I hope this stay of yours goes by swiftly and painlessly on both of our ends," Charles says, trying to sound professional. 

He's actually a little proud of how professionally he says it, but then Hank pops out of nowhere (well, the kitchen actually, Charles realizes, where on earth has his telepathy gone on vacation and why is the cell service so spotty that he hadn't sensed him until just seconds before he came in) and of course ruins it by wryly commenting, "I do too, I would hate for the kids to see Mommy and Daddy fight." 

 _Thanks, Hank,_ Charles comments dryly. 

 _Just telling it like it is. But you know what, this is good, you guys should sort out your issues,_ Hank says immediately back.  _The kids have a right to know their daddy-_

_Piss off, Hank._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updates will be sporadic. As you can see, I've uploaded two chapters in one night instead of spacing them out like a normal busy person.


	2. In Which Charles Strongly Does Not Need Erik Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, so... Charles is walking because I really just wanted to make this sort of whacky and domestic and I feel like his injury makes it really serious and if I'm completely honest, I wouldn't be sure how to write it. Like I might tackle it someday, but for now, he's walking because a certain degree of autonomy is needed to be PETTY, which Charles is going to be, bless his bitter heart. Apologies if this bums anyone out, but I'm a bad writer.

He didn't even have a suitcase, that insufferable cocky bastard.

He came to the mansion, he didn't even ring the doorbell, and now he didn't have anything with him, just a ratty jacket, an ugly black, beaten-up turtleneck, and a pair of slacks that had seen better days, days where he'd had more than one pair of pants.

Charles sees him settling into a room on the corner, in the West corridor, which is, as he had requested, as far from everyone as possible.

And he sees him idly wandering to furniture, touching it gently, running his hands through the curtains, his fingers slow and careful as he strokes fine mahogany-

Not that he's watching. He huffs and just goes back to the living room, deciding he was going to ignore him.

Any mutant who needed a place to stay was welcome here. Any mutant who didn't have a home, who needed friends and companionship and acceptance was welcome here. It was his duty to his kind to invite and accept all of them with open arms.

He just wishes that "any mutant" didn't include Erik. 

It's agonizing sitting down here, knowing Erik is up there, sitting in his room, doing nothing of importance.  Like it's so normal for him, like he's always here.

He can't focus on anything, mindlessly shuffling papers as if his mutation would somehow grade them for him, picking at his shirt, rubbing at his pockets and pulling up his pants, huffing and coughing. 

His presence here is a disturbance, an unwelcome, hovering presence that looms overhead and stalks his every footstep, and he hates it, hates its shadow over him and all of his papers.

Why the hell can't it mean nothing to him?

Why can't he just accept it the way he accepts... Hank's presence, or Logan's, or Angel's, when he flies over for a visit?

Why does Erik have to be so damn special, who does he think he is, walking in whenever he feels like it, sitting down on his bed, acting like he's totally...and completely unfazed by being here?

Charles wonders briefly if he too feels uncomfortable or uneasy, but he brushes the question away. He will not enter Erik's mind. 

Not on purpose or by accident. 

The man has made it abundantly clear that he does not welcome any intrusion on his inner thoughts. 

Of course he wouldn't, Charles thinks spitefully. It's harder to betray your friends when they can hear your thoughts. 

Even when they'd first met, Erik had been guarded, afraid of letting him in. 

And he'd wanted nothing more than to be let in. 

He'd been young. Eager. Wanted to know everyone, be friends with everyone, use his groovy little mutation to understand humans and mutants alike. 

He'd been so proud of himself and his abilities, all of his natural gifts... 

But he's not a young man anymore. 

He's seen that he cannot change people's hearts or minds, not even as a telepath, and that you lose friends, dear friends, by trying. 

And he can't change the past, can't go back to a time when Erik welcomed his presence in his mind, when he woke up in the middle of the night asking for him, at first subconsciously and then consciously, telling him thank you, thank you for being here, for making your presence known, thank you for telling me I am not alone-

He checks the time. 

Time to get to work. 

No more of this wishy-washy garbage.

Erik's presence will not interfere with life here. 

He's going to make dinner and he's not going to accept any help from Hank, that furry blue traitor, and he's going to act like everything's normal, which it is, because Erik's just an acquaintance. 

But to his discomfort, Hank goes off, murmuring something about needing to go to the drug store, Raven is of course out, Scott, Bobby, and Jamie called to say they won't be back for dinner because they were going to go digging for worms for their bait box, Kurt and Kitty went out to dinner after or before the movies, he doesn't remember which, Rogue just doesn't feel like eating dinner (he suspects it's a teenage thing), and Jean, the dear... politely declines, claiming a schedule conflict. 

A schedule conflict. 

Sure. 

He wonders if Hank put her up to it. 

He'd known Erik was coming, cleared out the house of any and all kids, told Raven to go wild, then gone out himself pretending to be on an errand just to force them to have dinner alone together? 

Sounded like something Raven would do, actually. 

Maybe she did this. 

Either way, he isn't happy when he carefully knocks on Erik's door, informs him that dinner has begun, and then has to humiliatingly sit at an empty table with just two plates, two sets of utensils, four plates full of steaming food prepared in the center, and two very uncomfortable adult men. 

If this was planned by some higher being, I'm sure it's laughing it's ass off right now as it looks down from on high, Charles think. 

It just thrives on how awkward he is as he tries to eat without making eye contact with the man who'd sat stubbornly directly across from him. 

And it is awkward, because he can feel that telltale tingle in his belly, that little creeping feeling on his neck that he gets whenever someone's watching him. 

Erik's eyes aren't on him, perhaps, they're dutifully downward, but he can feel his thoughts on him. 

He can feel his emotions churning on the other side of the table, can feel just a little frustration, a little awkwardness, and maybe some bitter amusement. 

As if he can't figure all of those feelings out, telepathy or not. 

But he makes no comment. 

And he wouldn't have said a word through dinner if Erik hadn't first.

"So..where are all of the kids?" Erik asks. 

Charles coughs. 

"Out."

He offers nothing else and Erik, not to be dissuaded, the noble trooper, continues. 

"How many are here...?"

"Jean, Scott, Jamie, Bobby, Kitty, Kurt, Rogue, Ororo, Alex, Sam, Roberto, Amara, and Tabitha," he rattles off quickly. "There are more, but those are the ones who are currently living here and doing classes and training sessions here. Some go home for the summer, but the ones I just told you are the ones who live here permanently, or semi-permanently."

"Ah...are they all...teenagers?" Erik dares to ask. 

" _Most_ of them," Charles says. 

"Wow," Erik grins. "I would've pulled all my hair out by now."

"I'm sure you would," Charles lets out a snarky exhale. 

Erik's brow furrows. 

"Are they...difficult to manage?"

"I can handle blizzards in the hallways, dents in the ceiling, fires in the west wing, a shattered chandelier, and blue fur all over my carpets and sofas," Charles waves his hand dismissively. "But they're still kids with lots of feelings and inner turmoil that adults can figure out, but kids aren't quite used to yet, and a rather Kafkan worldview. And that part is harder to understand."

"I would think a man like you would understand Kafka better than anyone," Erik grins. "But not everyone can be as prim and proper as you were as a child."

Charles does not return his effort. 

"I manage."  _Just fine._

"But... Beast and Mystique help, don't they...?"

"Hank and Raven," Charles fixes him with a stern glare. "Are quite lovely helpers who are more than willing to put more hours into taking care of these children than they absolutely need to. I don't know what I would do without them."

"You'd figure out something," Erik tries. 

Charles glares at him. 

"Yes, I'm very good at that."

The smile twitches on his dinner companion's face.

"It was a compliment."

"And I received it," Charles's eyes close briefly as he smiles too hard. When he opens them, Erik is standing. 

"Well...lovely dinner. I look forward to meeting everyone...um...whenever they're all...back..."

"They won't all be back at the same time, I'll introduce you whenever they're here," Charles waves his hand at him, not looking away from his plate. 

"...Charles..."

There he goes again with that tone of voice. 

Like he has something he wants to say.

Charles doesn't want to hear it, however. 

"I noticed you don't have any supplies with you and I will not be sharing a toothbrush with you. You'd best fly over to the city either tonight or tomorrow and get yourself toiletries and the like before you start smelling and looking like a man without a job, a house, or a will to live-"

"Well now I have a house," Erik smiles genuinely. For a moment, Charles doesn't have any witty response, distracted by- 

No, not distracted, just a little spacey from only eating one meal a day for the past month, trying to accommodate all these different dinner schedules. 

"This is my house, mister, and you'll follow the rules here. Rule number one, you have to shower and not scare my kids," Charles says sharply. "Two,  you have to brush your TEETH on a daily basis, and three, you can't sleep  _naked,_ this is a house full of children-"

"Motherhood really does suit you," Erik interrupts with a sparkle in his ugly, ugly unremarkable, dull sky blue eye. 

"Your wit might've dulled, but at least you sense of humor is intact," Charles retorts. 

"It was a compliment."

"I run a house full of teenagers, do you really think I don't know sarcasm when I hear it?"

"You're also a telepath."

"Your memory is as sharp as ever, good to know. Perhaps you can truly utilize your time here to use it for something productive," Charles scratches his neck, suddenly aware of a much stronger tingling feeling in his gut and his neck. Erik must be looking at him and thinking of him. Damn. It sends shivers up his spine. 

"Like what?" Erik asks, his voice unnecessarily low. Charles just barely manages to keep himself from shuddering. It's just a damn voice, keep it together, Charles.

"Use your vivid imagination. You're trying to impress me, freeloader," Charles says, but with less venom than he's capable of, because despite himself, he's...not hating this banter, this verbal chess game. The back-and-forths with Raven usually dissolve into petty insults and mean nicknames and back-and-forths with Hank usually dissolve into a philosophical or scientific debate that ends with both conceding to the opposition and coming to a compromise. 

But with Erik, there isn't a compromise, there's never a compromise. 

And just like that, the almost-content feeling fades.

Erik seems to sense it. 

He's quiet now. The tingling sensation seems to have faded with Charles' mood. 

"Well?" Charles asks. "Are you going to impress me?"

He can't help but sound less mocking, less aggressive, because there's a real question in there somewhere. There's a hint of curiosity, some bitterness, maybe if he's honest, a little bit of hurt. But it's slipped out and he can't bring it back in, so he merely waits for Erik to say something. 

And he doesn't think he's going to for a while, because Erik says nothing, perhaps trying to think of a response. 

After a while, though, he laughs a little, and his laugh is a little mixed too, a little desperate, anxious and low, worried, but also a little hopeful. 

And then he simply says "I can try."

And he projects suddenly, he pushes out very, very hard, making it impossible for Charles to ignore, the need for understanding. 

For forgiveness or...no, not quite. Acceptance? 

There's regret. 

And there's a sense of loss, a sense of missing, a gap where there shouldn't be. 

But forgiveness isn't what he wants, and for some reason, that makes the telepath feel just a tiny bit better, just enough to lessen some of the bite from his next words. 

"It's not going to be easy, I have much higher standards now," Charles sighs. "Someone set the bar too low last time."

"That's unfortunate."

"Indeed."

Charles stands up and makes for the kitchen with his plate and one of the serving plates. 

When he comes back, Erik is still there, standing in the doorway. 

Charles wipes his hands off on the paper towel he'd brought from the kitchen. 

"Something I can help you with, Erik, or are you all out of clever-?"

"I've really missed you." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who has finals in like two weeks? This guy, who thinks writing a fanfic is more important than finishing a major project he hasn't started that's due in like two days. Yeah, good going.


	3. In Which Charles Doesn't Know What to Do With Erik Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I rapid-updating this? I dunno.

"Did you know he was coming?" Charles asks. 

"I swear I didn't, how come you didn't know?" Hank asks. 

"Because he didn't tell me!"

"Why didn't you hear him coming from miles off?" the scientist asks exasperatedly, watching Charles pace from his cozy armchair near the fireplace, a stack of particle physics textbooks in his lap. Of course, it's summer time, so there's no fire in the pit, but there are plenty of logs, probably all from the stack of "punishment" wood piled almost up to the second floor on the north side of the building.

When the students, whether in play or in training, plowed through rows and rows of trees, he would make them cut up their trunks and branches for firewood and neatly put them in one place. 

So of course, these being rambunctious children, and _mutant_ children at that, the pile was no pile, but a mountain. 

He called it the punishment stack, but if he's completely honest, he's not really punishing any of them. It's not like any of them were intentionally cutting and burning trees for their amusement. Besides, it's not like they hated cutting up wood; they actually rather enjoyed it, since they got to swing around an axe or be creative with the use of their powers. It also wasn't really a punishment because the destruction of trees was usually an accident. Or one of them got too wild, like Bobby and Tabitha and Sam often got, and overexcited. Once, Bobby had been practicing his aim and had been throwing up ice loops for Sam to fly through, but the boy's friend had been just a little eager, and spun upwards rather than straight on like he'd been expecting. 

He'd frozen a tree instead and Samuel had smashed head on through that and knocked over several more trees in the process before falling headfirst to the ground. 

Logan had been supervising on that one. 

Charles wishes _he_ had been, because after Logan was done growl-yelling at them, Samuel had been terrified of even tripping in front of anyone, and Bobby, who was used to being scolded, hadn't been able to look anyone in the eye for a full week. 

"I wasn't focusing," Charles insists. 

"Even without focusing..."

"The point is that he surprised me," the professor squeezes the bridge of his nose. "I thought he was gone. I didn't think he would ever come back here, not to this place, not to these kids, not to..." 

He doesn't really want to finish that sentence. 

Hank shakes his head.

"You two have unfinished business. He was bound to come back."

"Oh, you really think so?" Charles sniffs. "Because I assumed I'd seen the last of him after that day."

"You two are too attracted to one another-" Hank holds up a hand as Charles squawks at the word "attracted." " _Attracted_ to one another to ever leave well enough alone. If he didn't seek you out, you would've sought him out-"

"No, you're wrong about that, my friend," Charles interjects forcibly. "I have a school to run, children to look after, matters to attend to. I was perfectly content never seeing him again, I frankly had, have, and will have much more pressing concerns than one Erik Lensherr."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't you tell me what I mean."

"Fine, but I know you at least missed him. Even if you didn't think you'd ever see him again, a part of you had to know you were always going to miss playing chess with him, arguing about politics and genetic superiority, evolution, and human biology, sitting outside when the weather was nice and reading-"

"I can do all of those things with you! Or Raven! Or any of my children for that matter! In fact, I would argue that speaking with my children has much more value than speaking with Erik, he's a brick wall, he's stubborn and immovable and-" Charles fumbles for the word. "And-obtuse."

"Obtuse?" Hank frowns. "You know that's not true." 

"No," Charles says grudgingly. "Ok, I take that one back, he's not obtuse. But that's all he gets from me."

"Listen, Charles, you can be a sensitive suffering intellectual and philosophize all day about how all kinds of psychological and biological prerogatives can be fulfilled by any member of a sentient species, even if their relation is familial or platonic in nature, tell me that there are a million reasons why he's entirely unnecessary, replaceable, and really only served a specific function in your life as it was at the time, when you were a younger man, and all of these things would be true. But what's also true is that I know you two have something more than you'll ever have with Raven or I. There's something else that's there, something that draws you together even when you couldn't be further apart. No matter what you two clash over, no matter what kind of-of arguments and fights and mutant shenanigans you get into... you still find yourselves at the end of the day wondering what would've been if you'd been on the same side."

"Well-" Charles says sharply, but then he pauses, thinking about it and in the process, losing some of the edge in his voice. "Well, of course I've thought about it, fantasized about it, and he probably has too, but that doesn't mean anything. We were close friends and we were always going to have some regrets about how we split off, that's just-that's just to be expected. That's very human, thinking about what could have been, how it could've been better. I'll always wish he wasn't so radical, so hostile towards the world, and he'll always wish I would fight alongside him, and we'll always wish the other had remained by our side. But what does that matter now? It was never going to happen, Erik doesn't compromise."

"He's here now, isn't he?" Hank smiles toothily at him. "And the kids aren't around, by the way, you don't have to pretend you two were just friends."

"It's not that simple and-and there will be none of that talk around Erik, do you hear me, Hank?" Charles says, the hint of a blush on his cheeks. 

"Ok, but do remember that we do have impressionable budding young teens in the house if you two _make up_ ," Hank snickers as Charles thumps him lightly on the thick furry head. "Ok, ok, I'm kidding, things will never be like that between you two ever again, alright. So friends, just friends, but that's a start, isn't it, after all these years of going from enemies to bitter enemies? He's here to make amends, right?"

"I don't know, he hasn't said anything. What else is new?" Charles scoffs.

"Well he must be here to make amends-"

"Why would you just assume that?"

"If he were trying to recruit your kids into joining an army or something, he would've cut to the chase, wouldn't he have? He wouldn't have had dinner with you. He'd just ask you right out if you would help him, right? This is Erik we're talking about."

"I wouldn't say he's  _impatient-"_

"No, I'm not saying that either, but he is quick, straight to the point. If he wanted something like a favor, he would've announced himself, asked to meet you, done something more drastic than simply showing up at your doorstep, wouldn't he?"

"Maybe he did, just by assuming that if I wanted to stop him, I would..."

"Point is," Hank presses. "He hasn't made any demands. He didn't even come with a suitcase for Christ's sake and he looks like he's got nothing on him but the shirt on his back. I think if he's here, if he's not asking for favors, if he's not here to start planning some attack on the school or trying to make some kind of military or political plan...then it's not so crazy to think that maybe he's just tired of world domination and he might just want to talk to you.  _Talk_ to you, alright? Not anything else, just a friendly conversation between two old  _friends."_

 _"_ He's only been here a day and a night," Charles says. 

"Well time will tell, I guess, but that's my two cents on the matter for right now..." Hank flips through his books, squinting down at a diagram of the Standard Model. 

"It doesn't make you uncomfortable? You've fought with the guy several times if I remember correctly," Charles turns away from him to look through the window at the empty grounds. Although he does enjoy having less chaos during the summer months, the sight does make his heart twinge just a little. 

"He seems different somehow," Hank says idly. "Less angry. More calm. And the last time we saw him, he was being less of a dick than usual. And when I saw how he was looking at you, I had a feeling, call it animal instinct-"

"Don't say it."

Hank grumbles, but does keep it to himself. 

After a moment or two of silence except for the turning of pages and the professor's shoe tapping the floor, Charles breaks the silence with a quiet, grudging, "He said he missed me."

And he doesn't even have to look to see the triumphant grin on his friend's face, he can do without the "I-told-you-so" smirk.

"So he is here to-"

"It still doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's biding his time or trying to get on my good side or-"

"Always so suspicious-"

"I have a right to be with him!" Charles says indignantly.

"Because when he first broke your trust, went rogue, and left, and it seemed like he would never come back, in order to cope, you wrote him off as completely and utterly untrustworthy and not deserving of your commitment or time, right?" Hank suggests. "And now that he's back you won't let yourself be hopeful because if he's just trying to wiggle back into your good graces then your suspicions will be confirmed and if he's not, then better safe than sorry, right?" 

Charles scowls.

"Have you been reading Dear Abby again, Hank?"

"I enjoy her writing style," Hank says unabashedly. "But no. I think that when someone hurts you, your first reaction, and most people's, is to draw away and lie to yourself by saying you were more obsessed with the idea of them. And then you try to explain your feelings away. But you can't change how you feel, no matter how much logic your brain applies to the situation. So if he's here, and you're here, and you're not trying to throttle each other or actively foil each other's plans...then you two should really hash it out. And if you aren't going to be friends, then at the very least, figure something out so you can move on for god's sake."

"I moved on!" Charles insists. "He didn't, that's why he's on my door."

"Ok," Hank says with exaggerated slowness. "So you admit he's here for personal reasons. Hence why he said he missed you."

"He also could have had a heat stroke," Charles grumbles. 

"He's not wearing that helmet of his and if that didn't give him heat stroke-"

"Well I won't rule it out."

"But you won't rule out that maybe he's here to make friends?"

"I never ruled that out, I just don't care because I have more important things to deal with," Charles turns his nose up at him, partly joking, partly serious.

"Oh is that what this is about? You two adopted a bunch of kids and then he bailed and left you a single mother and _now_ he shows up just when you're starting to feel like everything's finally coming back together?" Hank teases. 

"I will not continue to pay for Hallmark if it continues to fill your head with that drivel," Charles pokes him in the shoulder.

"Hallmark is part of a package deal, you know, so if you got rid of it, you'd get rid of a whole lot of other channels. Think of the children, Charles."

"You're worse than they are," Charles says, but he's smiling. 

"But not worse than him, right?"

"Never," the telepath sighs. "Ok. Ok. If he talks to me, I will be...open...to anything he might say. But I won't talk to him first."

"You always did want everyone to come to you rather than the other way around..."

"In this case... I don't think you can blame me."

"Oh no, he should come on crawling on his hands and knees, tears in his eyes, and sobs in his throat, he should beg for your forgiveness and tell you you're the most beautiful man he's ever seen and he'll never take you for granted again-"

"I'm leaving the room now. And if weren't for the children, you would never watch another Hallmark movie again."

"Actually, that was on Freeform."

Charles smiles in appreciation.

"Take it easy, Hank."

"I was going to say the same to you."

"I'm going out, do you have overwatch?"

"I'll keep an eye on the kids. Where are you going, though, just so I know?"

"Erik is still asleep and although I don't collect rent, I will not allow any member of this household to go more than a day without attending to all necessary forms of hygienic cleansing."

"He needs a toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant..."

"Yeah-"

"-shirts, pants, pajamas, loofah, soap, condoms, face wash, face cloth-" 

"I'll write it down."

"Hm and be back before he wakes, leave it on his dresser, put a note on his door saying to meet you on the veranda..."

"Very funny, Hank, I don't know why you turned to academics when you're so well-versed in comedic vernacular."

"Make sure you don't talk to him like that," Hank calls to him on his way out the door. "That kind of dirty talk only works on  _me."_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Danger Room is actually just a holodeck. 
> 
> Like. Wow. Patrick Stewart smuggled holodeck technology off the Enterprise to help train a group of mutant kids on an alternative timeline of Earth.


	4. In Which Charles Does Not Wonder What Erik Is Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seen that Sink or Swim Cherik music video?
> 
> ...that's a good song. 
> 
> Bring it up on another tab as you're reading this fic, unless you're reading this fic in a crowded lecture hall like the ballsy devil you are.

Erik doesn't think he's slept so well in years. 

Come to think of it, he can't recall the last time he even got this much sleep at all. 

What with mutant revolutions and being hunted down by the human government and planning and carrying out military operations and keeping a steady hand in external and internal mutant politics, he's usually lucky to get any sleep at all, much less the full 8 hours. 

And much less a peaceful sleep not plagued by nightmares of violence and tragedy and fitful re-awakenings. 

It's around eleven a.m. when he wakes up, the latest he's slept since...

Well. Since he and Charles had been on good terms. 

It used to be a sad passing thought, a lingering regret, when he thought of those simpler times, but now the ache is merely obligatory. 

Now that he's here, now that his mind is set, he can push it aside more readily. 

There are regrets, yes, and their past has, and always will be, a mess. No fixing what's already been done. 

But he's here now, for better or for worse, and he will not leave until they can reach a conclusion. 

Even if it's a poor one, even if Charles will never- but it doesn't matter. Closure. 

He can accept it if Charles doesn't want anything more to do with him, he can. It would just be regrettable, but just another line in  _What Could've Been Great,_ currently being written by the two of them. 

A spotty collaboration if he ever saw one.

Erik scratches absentmindedly at his chest. He'd had to sleep in his boxers last night since his clothes were dirty and he felt uncomfortable wearing dirty clothes to the luxurious linens Charles has draped over the queen-sized bed. At least Charles hasn't been wanting in creature comforts over the years. The bed, the mirror across from it, the wardrobe, the bureau, all are as he remembered them. He hadn't known luxury as a boy or as an adult, but when he and Charles had first gotten together to find their mutant brothers and sisters, he'd been astounded by how unaffected Charles was, how completely he took his fortune for granted. First it had annoyed him, as had Charles' optimism and slightly condescending, moralizing attitude. 

But he was a young man then, compartmentalizing those he knew as humble and arrogant, unkind and kind, unintelligent and intellectual. 

It took both time and maturity to see him for what he truly was. 

He doesn't hold this against himself; he's no telepath. Charles might know immediately the hearts and intricate complexities of man, but someone who controls metal takes more time. 

As he'd gotten to know him, Erik had realized that his friend did take money for granted, but it didn't make him like the rich men Erik knew, who were born with money, made money, and took money, and just kept taking and taking more and more from others. Charles was born with money, but he used it to help others, he used it to create this home for the mutant outcasts, the outsiders of the human world. He took it for granted, was a little careless with it, but never used it to enhance his own standing, his pride, or power. It was one of his first steps towards mature adulthood, realizing that Charles used his privilege to help the underprivileged, and his intelligence to help, rather than keep others in the ignorant dark. 

It was also his first step in realizing that Charles was much more than simply an acquaintance. 

And that the bullish, optimistic beliefs he held were genuine, coming from a place of privilege, but not total ignorance, well-meaning, if a little naive. 

After this first understanding, the rest would come in a flood, a deluge of little realizations about him, a million little reasons to like him. 

A million little things that would burn an appreciation of Charles and his many wonderful traits so deeply into his being that even at their worst, even when they couldn't be further apart, couldn't be more violently opposed to the other's ideologies, he would never regret meeting him. Knowing him. Knowing all of these things, even though it hurt to have to fight him. He would fight him, yes, and regret it, perhaps, but he would not regret knowing him. 

But these are things he'd learned long ago. 

There are many more things he needed to learn, still needs to learn, about Charles. 

After all, hadn't he seen firsthand what the years would do to that optimism, to that cheery young hopeful intellectualism?

Humans will accept us someday, Erik. You underestimate them. You don't see them the way I do, you don't hear their thoughts, they're the same as you or I where it counts. Trust in the human heart.

Have faith in them. 

Have faith in me. 

But even though Erik had, and always will, have faith in Charles, having faith in human beings to do the right thing was always impossible. 

And Charles, always thinking with his heart.

It might not be true anymore, though, Erik muses, recalling his first impression of him at the door, after all these years of distance. 

Erik doesn't know exactly what happened, he wasn't there, but he knows that at some point that teasing buoyant light faded into obscurity. At some point during the years, the color had faded from his eyes, leaving the sky blue in his eyes an overcast gray. 

There's still a great deal of love, but it's mired by pain too. Eyes so blue that his heart used to ache when they met his were suddenly darker, heavier with age and dilapidation and loneliness and sad realities. They don't lose their kindness, but they lose their openness, their desire to love everyone and everything they meet. 

After all, Erik isn't the only one who's learned a lot about people throughout the years. 

In fact, the moment Charles had let him in, he'd seen the years in his shoulders. 

Seen the weight of hundreds of lost souls, the children Charles had saved and the ones he hadn't, the people he'd helped and the people he'd let down, the anguish of hearing their worst thoughts, seeing their worst memories, and being unable to reach them even though he wants nothing more than to grasp them by the shoulders and tell them he understands. 

Erik wonders if he was the first person Charles had ever met that he could not save. 

And if he was the first dose of reality for him and his wondrous, infallible mutation. 

Erik sighs. 

Well he knows now, for sure. 

And the way he avoids Erik's eyes, keeps his mind tightly shielded from him, makes him wonder if he's completely given up on him. 

And this distance is because he refuses to try again because he knows he will fail. 

If he has given up, Erik doesn't blame him. 

There's a bag on the bureau. 

Erik blinks, wondering how he hadn't even noticed it as his eyes had drifted around the room, lazily touching upon familiar items without deep thought. 

Pharmacy bag. 

Nothing metal in there. 

Probably a toothbrush. 

He smiles wryly. 

"How considerate."

* * *

As he walk down to the kitchen, he meets his first student at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. 

A young girl, brown hair, yanking her hair into a ponytail. 

Who runs right through him. 

He blinks. 

"Sorry," she calls, already halfway down the hallway. "Jean's going to drive Kurt, Amara, and me to the mall and she's got some date with a guy right after, so we have to go right now, ok, Professor?"

Ah. She's not talking to him. 

She does pause, however, for a brief moment at the end of the hall to look at him in confusion. 

"Uh...hi?" she says. 

"Hello."

"Um...I seem to have lost my hairband," she says. 

"That's...unfortunate?" Erik says back, unsure of why she's telling him this. 

"Well... you know what, it's probably fine, I doubt it'll be a problem, it's tiny, it'll probably come out by the end of the day." 

She smiles and waves. 

"Nice meeting you!"

"It'll come-? Oh," he realizes, subconsciously rubbing his stomach. 

Well he's had worse. 

He trots down the stairs and almost runs right into a tall young lady with bright white hair. 

"Uh-?"

"Magneto, right?" she says. 

"How did you know it was me?" he asks, surprised. "We've never met."

"I recognize your face. He used to think about you a lot. We'd be talking and suddenly your face would flash in my mind and he would get a little embarrassed and say it was nothing. But then I'd feel a little sad and I'd know that he was still thinking privately about you," she says rather brusquely.

"O-Oh."

"Not anymore, though," she says just as bluntly.  

"Oh." 

"But your name is Magneto, isn't it?"

"Uh...it's Erik, but is that what he calls me with you kids?" Erik asks. 

"He doesn't talk about you at all," she says. Erik winces, but gives him that. Why  _would he_ talk about you, Erik? "He doesn't think about you either, at least, not that I've seen."

"A-alright," Erik says bemusedly. 

What a strange girl. 

He rather likes her. 

"Ororo Munroe," she says abruptly, taking his hand firmly in his grip. He startles, surprised by her forthrightness, but smiles appreciatively nonetheless at her firm grip. 

"And you can do...?"

"Control weather," Ororo bites her lip. "And you can control metal, can't you?"

"What else do you know about me?" Erik asks. 

"Just that you used to mean a lot to Charles and now he's distracted and probably upset that you're here."

Well. 

Erik has to commend Charles for raising his children so honest. 

Ororo blinks. 

"But he'll be fine. He's dealt with worse."

The disapproval lays thick on her tongue and he's almost intimidated, imagine that, by this young woman's piercing look as she coolly strides passed him and out the door. 

He hears thunder just moments later. 

"These kids..." Erik smiles, unable to resist. She might not be related to him, but she certainly had his fire. Maybe Charles just had a gift for finding children a lot like him. 

Or more likely, as they came to love and respect him, they be influenced and would _become_  a lot like him. 

Either way, he feels a little prick of discomfort in his gut, which might be the hairband, might be regret. 

What would it have been like, to stay here, to teach here, to take care of these children, guide them, advise them, with Charles, to be side by side with him as he raised these children to be the best they could be, to nurture their talents and abilities and best personality traits, and produce the next generation's brightest-? 

"Thank you very much, I appreciate you coming back, I really do, we gave the children some time off, but we need to get them training again, and I appreciate the help, Logan-"

Erik turns slowly, the hair on the back of his neck tingling. 

He freezes and the other man does too. 

"You're up," Charles says dryly, but Erik is too distracted by the sight of a mutant he knows too well, who he's met a few times, fought a few times, maybe threw off a building or two before. 

"What are you doing here?" "Logan" growls. 

"He's a guest," the professor pats his shoulder. "He's a guest, Logan." Erik watches the point of contact between the two of them with narrowed eyes. 

"Guest implies  _invited,_ Chuck, and I'm willing to bet no one here's invited him!" 

"He and any mutant in need who asks may stay here," Charles emphasizes  _any_ just to twist the knife a little bit. 

But Erik is more distracted by other things.  _Chuck?_

"Damn, and I was just getting comfortable with the thought of camping out-"

"Oh please don't tell me you're going to leave," Charles says, his voice suddenly pleading. Erik is filled with the desire to fling a lamp at something, anything, specifically Logan. "He'll behave. And I would appreciate having someone to take the kids through some physical training Mondays through Wednesdays." 

"I ain't backing out on you, Chuck, I'm just sayin', he can stay here, but I don't gotta like it," the surly mutant growls in Erik's general direction. 

"Thank you, Logan," Charles grins, rolling his eyes and finally letting go of his shoulder, thank fucking God. He pats it again though immediately, as though he  _knows._ "For trusting my judgment."

"Well now I gotta stay in case _that_ starts to fail ya and you're stuck with your bad choices," Logan replies. 

Charles chuckles. 

"No one appreciates that more than me, my friend." 

_My friend._

Erik wonders if Charles is doing this on purpose or if it's accidental. 

Either way, it's annoying. 

Logan glares at him, but makes no comment as he turns around and walks down the hallway, probably to exit through the other side of the mansion. 

He leaves Charles and Erik alone. 

Just standing in the main entrance, pointedly looking away from the other occupant of the room. 

"Chuck, huh?" Erik says after a long period of uncomfortable silence. 

"Oh shut it," Charles says back. 

"Can I call you Charlie?"

"If you must address me, you can call me Professor X, thank you very much," Charles glares at him, but it's lacking any heat. 

"So impersonal."

"Well..." Charles doesn't finish his thought, but Erik understands the implication there regardless. 

"I met some of your students."

"Ah."

"Ororo."

"Ah."

"Seems nice."

"Hm."

"Also vaguely threatening."

"Dear girl, Ororo, one of my most dedicated students."

"Children, you mean? She reminds me of you."

"I think not, she's done what I never was able to: humble you," Charles says with a guarded smirk. 

"I also met another one, but she didn't tell me her name."

"Ah?"

"She ran right through me."

"Ah. Kitty."

"That's her name? She seemed nice."

"They're all very nice children," the professor grips the banister firmly in his hand. "And if you will excuse me, I have to go over lesson plans, they're going to need some structure in their lives this summer-"

"You've done really well here, Charles," Erik dares to call up to him. The man freezes, hand gripping the wooden banister tight. 

"You haven't seen anything yet...Erik," his old friend laughs, sounding like he's wheezing. Erik wonders if he's amused or if he's been hit by a sudden wave of pain. "But if you stay for just a little while longer, maybe you will." 

He continues walking up the stairs. 

"Hey, Professor, thank you for the supplies," Erik calls again. 

Charles waves his hand dismissively without looking back. 

"There are clothes folded up in the living room for you. I won't have any more of my children seeing you wear that filthy outfit you're wearing right now. They'll think you're a vagrant." 

"It reflects more on your reputation than mine," Erik teases. "The professor who let a vagrant live among his children. Although I see I'm not the only one." 

It only takes a moment for Charles to realize whom he's referring to. 

"Logan's always a big help around here," Charles says slowly. "It's nice to have an extra hand here and there." 

The venom is muted, but detectable nonetheless. 

"Well, I guess the children will have to deal with two miscreants living with them now," Erik smiles, grimaces, widely. 

"I'm sure they'll handle it just fine."

And because he's feeling a little more childish than he has in a long time, because Charles and their snippy little bantering makes him feel twenty years younger, he can't resist saying it. 

"Oh I'm sure they'll just assume you have a type." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ditched an entire day of classes to write this.
> 
> ...Just kidding.
> 
> I did ditch, but not jussst to update this, I had other reasons. Not good ones, but reasons.


	5. In Which Charles Just Needs His Children and Does Not Need Anything Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend agrees, Charles reached out to Erik when they first met, so it only makes sense that later in their lives, it's Erik's turn to reach out to him.

Before the school had really gotten "going," before parents began feeling comfortable enough with their children's mutations to admit that perhaps they should go to a school with similarly talented children, it had been rough. 

He'd had a lot of time to think and not a lot to do. 

He had plans and ideas, but no one to execute any of them on. 

He spent a lot of his time in his own mind rather than others for a change. 

Time to think was bad. 

Too much leisure time was also bad. 

There are two people in this world, in Charles' mind that is: people who thrived on structure, juggling a multitude of tasks, being forced to bear all kinds of pressure, and then relishing the feeling of accomplishment when they succeeded, and people who thrived on spontaneity and taking life at their own pace. 

He was and is the former. 

Not having something to do just makes him feel like he's forgotten something. He feels itchy and uncomfortable, just dying to get back to...something. Anything. 

When Hank had told him that if Erik hadn't come back, then he would've looked for him, he hadn't initially been very angry, but now, sitting in bed, clutching the most current Epigenetics book he could find, he feels just a little angry. 

As if Erik were so important to him that he would abandon his children to go find him.

As if he were so bored and-and unoccupied and unfulfilled that he would pursue an old flame who could be anywhere on earth, doing god knows what. And then what would he do? Beg him to come back? Convince him to see his side of things? Sometimes you just have to throw in the towel and see that some people are unchangeable, or not worth the effort. 

No, no, Hank, as brilliant as he is, and as dear as he is to Charles, is wrong. He and Erik parted ways naturally, but it happened, and he moved on, because that's what people did. They made friends who became...more than friends, and then those more than friends stabbed you in the back, and then they left, and then you cried a little, listened to Rascal Flatts, then Carrie Underwood, and then you moved on. 

Of course, Erik was really only the tip of the iceberg. 

There had been a lot of shit going on in his life during and after the time he left, ok?

Late at night, maybe he tossed and turned, but it wasn't because he missed having someone beside him. 

He was trying to prevent a war between humans and mutants, trying to facilitate the integration and eventual acceptance of mutants in human society, and quell anxieties and fears about the unknown, the different, the strange, within a species not particularly well-known for its easy welcoming of any of these things. 

That was enough to worry about, wasn't it?

He didn't really have time to think about how much he missed someone. 

Unless of course, that someone was trying to foil you at every turn, who forced humans to take a step back for every two steps forward.

That was an entirely different matter. 

But Magneto as a political agent and a "villain" and "hero" of mutant revolution, is not who's here right now, or at least, not yet (it's only been a little more than a day, maybe he'll be asking for that favor tomorrow). 

This is just Erik. 

Quiet, snarky, smartass Erik who likes to tease, who likes to ruffle his feathers, but has no ulterior motive. 

He feels so much younger with this Erik, so much less like a professor and more like a young man just starting out again. 

He imagines it's because their relationship through the years had only gotten more and more complicated with age. 

So maybe having Erik act as though their relationship is as simple as Hank's or Raven's (well, Raven's before this whole mutant revolution mess and after they made amends), makes it feel like it is. 

* * *

 

Charles no longer wanders accidentally into other people's dreams, which is a real relief, since the dreams of teenagers can be...well...inappropriate for a caretaker to see, but he does sometimes wakes up feeling some inexplicable emotion, one that doesn't quite feel like his, a sense of unease, fear from a nightmare, or contentment from a particularly sweet dream. 

Today, he wakes up feeling elated, his heart pumping as if he'd just finished a marathon. 

Some careful probing seems to indicate it might've been from Bobby. 

He often has very exciting dreams. 

He projects the most too. 

They all do, though, honestly. They're young and impulsive and their thoughts race a mile a minute. 

Although today, even though it's already 1 in the afternoon, they all seem to still be asleep. 

Maybe recovering from Saturday?  

Or perhaps they want to get their rest in preparation for the Logan-session planned tomorrow. 

Charles can see him right now tromping through the woods, climbing trees and rigging training traps.   

**Some kind of scavenger hunt?**

**Sure, Chuck. But they're gonna be the hunted.**

Charles stifles a laugh. 

Erik, sitting in a chair across from the fireplace, looks up, thinking he was saying something to him. But Charles keeps looking off into the distance, or rather, in the direction he can sense Logan is in. 

**Capture the flag scavenger hunt war?**

**Powers allowed.**

Charles groans good-naturedly. 

**That punishment pile is going to become my second home if you keep this up.**

**Plenty of building material.**

**You used to be a lumberjack, didn't you?**

Charles snickers as Logan flips him off. 

"Something amusing?" Erik asks. 

"Hm?" Charles asks, distracted. 

"Someone's talking to you up here?" Erik taps his temple. 

"Logan," Charles says simply. 

There it is. 

That flicker of irritation.

He resists the urge to grin. 

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, a little emboldened by the show of emotion. 

"Well enough."

"Excellent," Charles exclaims. "You ready to go out and lend a hand?" 

"With-with what?" Erik asks, nonplussed. 

"Digging pitfalls and setting up nets and climbing trees to hide flags and camouflaged booby traps. Logan isn't going to do it on his own, you know." 

"Ah-ok," the man says readily enough, smiling at him. 

But he's already turned away. 

* * *

 

"What...is the...purpose of this exercise?" Erik asks, hovering near the uppermost branches of an oak tree. 

"Find the flags hidden in the enemy's territory," Charles says, pushing aside leaves and dirt as he prepares to start digging his pit trap. "Gather all five and bring it back without being incapacitated by the enemy team."

"That doesn't sound like your kind of thing," Erik says, rolling the flag tightly and pushing it in between the branches. "I'm surprised, you're not sitting them down in the library to enhance their conflict resolution skills through diplomatic discussion?" 

"That's on Thursdays," Charles kicks at the head of his shovel, pushing it into the dirt. 

"Sounds invigorating."

"Hm."

"Do they like Logan's sessions more?" Erik asks. 

"I'm sure they do," Charles sighs. "Come down, would you? You look a little ridiculous hovering up there."

"I don't look intimidating?"

"Not without a cape and helmet."

"Raven said the helmet was silly."

"Well she was right."

"I needed it though."

Something clenches in his chest. 

"I remember."

Erik frowns. 

"You're not always in your children's or your friends' heads, are you?"

"Of course not," Charles scoffs. 

"You understand the value of privacy."

"I understand the  _notion."_

"So does it really bother you...that I put on the helmet?"

To his surprise, Charles doesn't sober up, but laughs. 

"I don't invade others' privacy when I can help it." 

"But it bothers you."

"It  _bothered_ me," Charles stresses the second word. "But that doesn't matter now. None of it mattered."

"None...?" Erik grips Charles's shovel with a simple clench of his hand. 

"E-Erik, let go of my shovel."

"Are you going to pretend that nothing's wrong as long as I'm here?"

"That depends on how long you're here," Charles smiles bitterly. 

"See, that," Erik lets go of his shovel, letting Charles stumble back a little from the sudden loss of force. "Is what I mean."

"What do you want from me, Erik?" the professor sighs. "Why do you have to go on the defensive? There's nothing wrong, old friend."

"None of that old friend crap, Charles. Chuck. I-" Erik pauses. "Ah. Ah, damn."

"What is it now?"

"This isn't what I came to say to you."

"What did you come to say?" Charles asks exasperatedly. "I would really prefer you got whatever it is out." 

"I don't know yet, I just know that wasn't it," Erik scratches his slightly curly hair. "I can't give you something I don't have yet." 

"Well until you figure it out, start digging," Charles scoffs, holding the shovel out to him. Erik pulls it out of his hand with his mind and begins to dig without touching it. 

"There's no reason this has to be so difficult, Charles."

"No, but you're difficult," Charles grumbles. "Always have been."

"You used to like it."

"Well, I'm too old to deal with it now," he walks around Erik's self-digging shovel and makes for the mansion. "And I have a houseful of kids, I frankly don't have the time." 

Erik shrugs. 

"When you're done digging your own grave, you can come inside."

"You're just going to leave me out here to work alone?" Erik calls, slightly affronted. 

"No, I'll be back...with a few more shovels," Charles smiles. "If you can handle a stadium, you can handle a couple more shovels, right?" 

The shovel wavers just slightly in his mental grip. 

Erik can't help but stare at his smile. 

Charles is visibly uncomfortable by this, however. 

He immediately breaks eye contact, seeming flustered and uneasy, the smile gone as he turns abruptly on his heel. 

"Um...right." 

"Charles?"

The speed with which he turns around, almost as though hopeful, is comical. 

At first. 

Then it makes Erik feel just a little sad, because- 

"After this, where am I supposed to go?" 

"Ah."

He can't read Charles quite as well as he used to, but he thinks, or maybe hopes, that he's disappointed. 

"I'll let you know." 

"You'll come back and take me there...?" Erik asks. 

"One of the main advantages of being a telepath is that I don't have to go to people to talk to them, Erik," Charles replies as he begins to walk away again. 

At first, he's a little disappointed that Charles isn't going to come back except to bring him some more shovels. He's not going to walk with him, trip over a tree root, fall into his arms. 

But then he realizes that Charles is at the very least comfortable with connecting telepathically with him again. 

He'd definitely noticed that Charles has been skirting away from his mind for his entire stay so far. 

So this is sort of progress...except he's only doing it out of convenience. 

But he'll count it, sure, it's only been a night and two days... 

They'll be holding hands by winter. 

He laughs to himself. 

**What's so funny?**

He feels his stomach jump a little. 

**Digging my own grave.**

He feels rather than hears Charles laugh and he can't resist the sharp thrill it gives him, hearing him laugh in his head, goosebumps forming from the tremor of its echoes within his bones. 

**You could just shovel like a normal person, you know.**

**I'm not a normal person.**

**So we've established.**

**It's my best quality.**

**Hm. I'll get back to you on that one.**

Erik doesn't push or try to project, almost like he's dealing with a hurt animal that he doesn't want to frighten off, but he does think idly, calmly. Trying his best to appear nonchalant about speaking this way, which they haven't, not in years. 

**What are you worried about?**

**Hard work builds character. It might make you a better man to really dig your heels in today.**

**Doubtful.**

**At the very least you'll keep that figure.**

Oh. 

Erik warms considerably, and it has nothing to do with the heat, although that is formidable this time of year. 

**You don't have to worry about that, dear.**

Oops. That last word just slipped out. 

Charles cuts off abruptly, and he curses. 

Doesn't drop the shovel, though.

Even though Charles makes him feel like one sometimes, he's not a boy anymore, it takes a lot more than that to ruin his focus. 

**Shovels.**

**Yeah.**

* * *

The next morning, Charles wakes up feeling strangely elated.

But all of the kids are already awake and ready to go by 6 am, so he wonders whose dream he's picking up on, or if it's some lingering feeling he's getting from someone who's awake. 

But it goes away as he enters the kitchen and is greeted by his sleepy, but more or less alert summer students eating breakfast prepared by Hank and he doesn't think about it again, not as they all run outside, already noisy with excitement. 

But as he leaves out the front door to watch his kids train, leaning against the wall of the west side of the mansion, he feels it briefly again, just brushing against his consciousness, and it doesn't take any probing at all to know who it is now. 

He's tempted, but he won't do it. 

Can't. 

He'll only regret it if he does, he knows. 

But still, he does lean in just a little, just to feel that contentment, which possesses the kind of warmth even a summer sun doesn't provide. 

It turns out, he leans in a little too far. 

**......?**

Shit. 

**.....**

**....something...up?**

**Just thought you might want to watch,** Charles quickly says, not wanting to be caught trying to invade Erik's dreams, a little sliver of nostalgic panic shooting through him, the old fear he used to have when he and his friend were at odds, when his mindreading felt intrusive and angered Erik rather than calming him like it should've. 

**...urgh...ok.**

He's rolling out of bed now and Charles is relieved that Erik thought nothing of it. 

The rows they used to get into over his mindreading...that damn helmet... 

**Charles?**

**What?**

**Want me to bring the chess set?**

It feels like there's something caught in his throat, but no matter, Erik doesn't have to know, they are speaking telepathically after all. His voice comes across measured, tranquil. 

**No, thank you. I think I just want to enjoy what I have right now.**

No chess (yet, his mind can't help but nag him). 

That brought back too much. 

That was definitely pushing it. 

Besides, he doesn't need the distraction, he wants to see how his kids have grown. 

But if Erik _cares_  to join him, then he can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is animentality, if you want to talk. although, i do warn you, that blog is weird. mod totally doesn't know what he's doing.


	6. In Which Charles May or May Not Totally Not Absolutely Dislike the Idea of Maybe Not Having Erik Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can figure out the chapter title....
> 
> please explain it to me.

"You've seen him, haven't you?" Kitty grins. 

Ororo grunts something as she flies from tree to tree, gathering wind around her to cushion her falls. Kitty passes through tree after tree, keeping a sharp eye out for flags. 

Kitty gestures for her to stop, and the storm-wielder pauses, allowing herself to land softly in the leaves beside her. They both wait, looking in either direction, looking for defenders. 

They'd left Jamie, Roberto, and Kurt to defend their territory on the other side of the mansion's property. Jean and Scott are on the offensive with them, looking for flags, but doing their own plan of attack somewhere else. 

Tabitha, Alex, Sam, Rogue, Amara, and Bobby are on the opposing team, Red team. 

Neither of them know which of the six members of the other team are defending or searching for flags. 

Additionally, there was no rule against holding your own flag. You could not only find your own flag, but take it into the other team's territory if you were feeling brave.  

"Seen who?"

"That guy," Kitty giggles. "The one the professor is hot on."

"He's not 'hot' on him," Ororo says haughtily. "They're acquaintances."

"He's not a bad-looking acquaintance," Kitty grins. 

"You're not infatuated with that menace, are you?" the older mutant scoffs. 

"Hey, hey, he's like forty or something," Kitty snickers. "But I can still admire. The professor could do worse. And a 'menace?' He seems ok."

"You're too young to know what he's done," Ororo grumbles. 

"You're not that much older than me!"

"I'm a legal adult!"

"Only for like a month!" 

They both freeze as they hear some rustling in the trees. 

Kitty hesitates. She'll sink into the ground if she has to, but it makes her uneasy. All she can think of is the nightmares she's had of sinking all the way down into the core of the earth and being trapped down there forever. For a while she couldn't even bring herself to phase through anything at all. It was only with the professor's encouragement and kind words that she was able to try again and regain her confidence. As long as this Erik guy makes Charles feel good, then she has no problem with him. But if it looks like he's upsetting him or stirring up trouble for him or anyone else, then she'll have something to say about him. He doesn't look so tough. 

They both wait, but nothing happens. 

So they continue, not talking for a while since they're both focusing on looking for flags. 

"You think Scott or Jean have found anything?" Kitty asks after a frustrating ten minutes. 

"I don't know, but I hope they haven't been captured or something. Kurt said he was going to find one of our flags in our territory while he was patrolling, didn't he?" 

"And protect it? Yes. That's honestly the best strategy too, I mean, he's pretty hard to capture, plus he can keep the flag from falling into their hands..."

"It's kind of unfair, isn't it?" Kitty asks. "Putting Kurt and me on the same team. We're the dream team in capture the flag."

"But they have Bobby," Ororo sighs. 

"I can handle Bobby. The rule is that they have to hold onto someone for at least five seconds, right? No one can hold me for five seconds."

"We'll see about that!" 

The two girls looking up sharply. 

Bobby grins broadly as he rides down a wave of ice right on top of them. 

Ororo, thinking quickly, throws him off the ice wave with a sharp gust of wind. 

"Woah!" Bobby yells as he's thrown into the bushes, albeit rather gently as Ororo lets him down carefully so as not to hurt him. 

"Go, Kitty, I'll handle him!" 

Kitty is off and running, giggling madly from excitement as she passes through trees and undergrowth. 

"I love this game!" 

* * *

"How old do you think that guy is? Forty? _Fifty?"_

"He can't be older than forty," Jean laughs. 

"He was weird at dinner...he didn't say anything...other than sort of grunt when the professor said his name was Erik and he's going to be staying with us for a while..." 

"The professor seemed a little disgruntled, didn't he?" 

"Sure. Erik seemed uncomfortable, didn't he?" 

Scott frowns, fiddling with his visor as they walk side by side, eyes peeled for a flash of red. 

"What's his last name?"

"I don't know." 

"Have you been reading his mind?"

"I don't do that without express permission."

"Well I don't like not knowing his last name..."

"Why not?"

"I'm not on a first-name basis with most adults, Jean."

"He's not the type of guy who would care, I don't think."

 

Scott trips a little over a root. 

It's still a little dark out and his shades make it a little difficult to see the ground. 

"The professor seems a little...uncomfortable around him."

"Well, I know a little about that Erik guy... he used to be a criminal, you know."

"What? Really?" Scott asks disbelievingly. "And the professor is ok with him being here?"

"Well, he was like a radical mutants' rights activist, so...he's not like a thief or a murderer... well, I dunno about murderer, actually..." at Scott's horrified look, Jean hastily adds, "But he's not going to hurt _us,_ I don't think... I mean, I trust the professor, he'd never let anyone who would hurt us on the property..." 

"Oh I trust him too!" Scott says swiftly. "If Professor X thinks he's ok, then he's ok, I just wonder how dangerous he actually is..."

"If he was a danger to _us a_ t least, the professor could just read his mind, right? He'd know."

"Right," Jean smiles. He looks away quickly, feeling a little flutter in his chest.

"If he's evil, he really wears it well, doesn't he?"

They both jump out of their skins. 

"Tabitha!" Amara protests. "We were going to sneak up on them!" 

"But where's the fun in that?" Tabitha laughs. 

As she tosses a couple of glowing yellow balls down on them. 

Jean yanks Scott and herself out of the way. The balls explode on impact with the dirt and leaving perfect little circular craters where they'd been standing. 

 

They don't talk about the newcomer anymore after that; they're both rather occupied.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Erik asks.

"The sound of explosions? Yes, I can hear that," Charles says dryly, taking a sip of his tea.

They're not taking part in the festivities, but they're waiting at the line dividing the teams' territories in fold up chairs, Erik standing and holding the back of the chair contemplatively as he scans the trees for movement and Charles sitting with a cup of tea. 

It's not particularly interesting in the first hour, as the kids are taking the time to figure out the territorial lines, where their flags are, and what their plan of attack is, but they're certainly going at it now. 

 "Rambunctious little buggers, aren't they?"

There's the sound of something, probably a tree, crashing in the distance. 

Birds fly up, alarmed, from the vicinity of the crash. 

"So...who's the strongest, do you think? Who has the most power?" Erik asks. 

"I don't rank my children," the professor says, giving him a look. "They're all powerful in their own special ways."

Erik rolls his eyes. 

"You're telling me you don't have a mental catalog of which are most capable of melting through an entire floor of the mansion and which can't even kill a fly?"

"Of course I keep track of what they can do and to what extent," Charles says sharply. "I just mean that I don't put more worth into any one child over another-"

"That's not what I asked. Let me re-phrase- which of these kids is most capable of...oh, breaking into a government facility?" Erik asks, winking cheekily at Charles when he throws him a deeply unamused look.

"So the true motive for your visit is revealed."

"Yes, I'm looking to break into the Pentagon, you got me."

"If you really wanted to be in the Pentagon, I'm sure you'd just have to ask and they'd gladly accommodate you," Charles retorts. "Besides, that's not what you really mean. Kitty could easily break into the Pentagon, she could slide through all of their defenses. But you wouldn't call her 'powerful,' would you? She can't do the kinds of things you've always valued, you know, throwing fireballs the size of chariots through the New York Stock Exchange..."

"Oh, is that what I value?" Erik asks sarcastically.

"Amara can make pretty large flames," Charles says as, ironically, they see a brief flash of flames somewhere to the north, in Red team's territory. "Tabitha can generate little glowing energy balls that explode on contact. Is that what you were looking for?"

"What about the redhead? Jean?" Erik asks, completely ignoring that. "You didn't tell me much about them the other night, just gave me their names, and names don't tell me much about them."

"If I started telling you more about them at the table, then they'd start wanting to know more about  _you,"_ Charles emphasizes the last word with some irritation. 

"And you don't want to tell them about me?" Erik asks bemusedly. 

"Well I don't know how long you're staying," Charles says glibly. "Why introduce and establish a man who might not be around for long? Seems a little pointless." 

His tone, flippant and harsh, stings at Erik's core. 

Instead of responding in kind, he merely brings the conversation back to where he'd wanted it to go. Away from more dangerous topics. 

"So what can Jean do?"

"She's a telepath-"

"Just like Mommy."

"Shut up. She's telekinetic too." 

"And the kid who was wearing his shades inside?"

"Scott. Optical beams. Can't control them without his visor. The shades prevent them from being released."

"Unfortunate."

"It's some kind of mental block..."

"Isn't that your forte?" 

Before Charles can respond scathingly, a blue-furred young boy suddenly appears before them with a puff of smoke and the strong smell of brimstone. Erik wrinkles his nose, but does smile/grimace at the boy when he looks curiously at him. 

"Hello, Professor!" he says with a thick German accent. "And... Mr. Erik." 

"Good morning, Kurt. I see you have a flag," Charles smiles, watching the red flag dart back and forward from the end of his prehensile tail. 

"Good luck getting this baby, am I right?" Kurt grins, revealing pointed little fangs, showing it off. Although he does falter a little under Erik's gaze, intently focused on the tip of his tail, self-conscious. 

He vanishes with another puff of smoke, taking his flag with him. 

"Fascinating," Erik nods. "A teleporter. And a handsome one at that."

"Do you have something for blue people?" Charles rolls his eyes. 

"You think your children are all powerful in their own way? Well I think our people are all beautiful in their own way," Erik parrots his tone back at him. 

Charles distances himself from him, looking a little cross. 

The air is rather frigid now, summer heat notwithstanding. 

"Where is Mys- uh, Raven, anyway?" Erik asks abruptly as though they had specifically been talking about her.

He sees Charles stiffen and he realizes that that's what's bothering him. 

"She's out. Probably having fun."

"I'm glad someone is," Erik says simply. 

They hear shouting and a loud bang, and then Bobby comes pelting over the line, two blue flags in his arms, running like a madman from a furiously pursuing Sam, a blur of gray.

He collides with Bobby and tackles him to the ground, but as fast as he was going, Charles could still see that Bobby had been in his territory before he touched him, so he calls it safe.  

"Damnit!" Sam swears. 

"Language!" Charles chides him. 

Sam looks abashed.

"Sorry, Professor."

"It's alright. It's 4 to 2, Red team." 

"Oh...dang it," Sam says. 

His right leg is completely encased in ice. 

As he flies back into the sky, the ice breaking off as he jets up and then sharply back to his own territory, Erik stifles a chuckle. 

"What's funny?" Charles huffs. 

"I can't help it, it's just so cute when you put that mother hen voice on," Erik snickers.

Then blinking and doing a mental check as he realizes he let  _that_ word slip out without meaning to.

But Charles doesn't seem particularly affected by the word "cute."

_"Mother hen?"_

"Your voice...it gets all maternal. All warm and fuzzy, even when you're not saying anything particularly kind. It's like you're talking to a baby or a small dog. It's very..." Erik fumbles for the word. "Affectionate."

"That's called genuine affection, I don't have a 'mother hen' voice," Charles frowns. "You just haven't heard me talk in a while."

 _Or talk to_ you _with any sort of affection in my voice._

Erik can practically hear it, can see Charles saying it in his mind's eye, can see himself looking away, the air between them freezing. 

But Charles wouldn't say that aloud. 

"That boy..."

"Sam?"

"He can...jet?"

"I suppose you can describe it that way."

"He seems...spirited."

"I suppose you can describe him that way."

"Why did he have ice on his leg? The other boy's doing?"

"Bobby. He can generate ice."

"Seems useful."

"Useful?" Charles asks, his voice a little disapproving at his choice of words. 

"Groovy. It's a groovy mutation," Erik meets his eyes with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

"Lit."

"What?"

"That's one lit mutation. I think kids are saying lit nowadays to mean 'cool,' Erik."

"Lit? Like on fire?" Erik gives him an amused look. He comes around his fold-up chair and sits rather ungracefully in it, the middle sagging far too deep for his comfort. 

"Lit like...a glow stick, I personally think of. Like... you go to a rave or a music festival to get  _lit_ you know?"

"It has something to do with drugs...?"

"Well...yes, but I think you can use it to describe more...mundane things. You can use it to refer to things that are just...cool."

Erik gets up abruptly, a little gracelessly once again, since these unstable chairs rock easily, and stands directly across from Charles, who first looks surprised, then uncomfortable, and then amused, his face just so  _done_ with Erik's shit. 

He takes a hold of Charles' shoulders and  _now_ he looks uncomfortable again as Erik leans in. 

"What-?"

"You're not cool, Charles," Erik says solemnly. 

The man's face is relieved for a split second before it becomes cheerfully irritated as he lightly pushes his old friend away. He sits back in his chair, chuckling, and Erik grins in response, pleased with himself for dissolving some of the tension.

Well.

The surface tension, that is.

The underlying tension is still there, might always be there.  

"I'm pretty sure about that word..."

"I know you're a professor," Erik says patiently. "But it's ok to admit you don't know what words mean."

"I know what it means, Erik, from context clues and from talking to teenagers all the time-"

"I don't know which is sadder, you not knowing how to use teenage lingo or you  _knowing_ very well how to use teenage lingo."

"You just wait," Charles says slyly. "You'll pick it up after a while."

"I thought we agreed that I wouldn't be here for a while," Erik says smoothly. He almost regrets it, but he can't let Charles go unopposed in that mindset, he can't let Charles think he's completely lost his bite after all. Besides, he doesn't intend to leave, at least not soon, so he'll push back against Charles' assumptions. Maybe it's because Charles seems so sure that he won't be here for long and he feels the need to prove himself, challenge his little biting passive aggressions.

But they  _will_ come back to the unspoken Mystique question. Maybe not now, but they will at some point, there's no maybe about that. 

There a lot of topics they'll have to come back to, but it's still a little too soon.

"It doesn't take long to figure it out," Charles replies. "It's a language, just like any other. You seem to pick up languages pretty well, I imagine this is just another one you can add to your repertoire."

"I suppose," Erik's response dies just a little at the end as he sees a flash of red light and suddenly there's another kid pelting towards them, one wearing a visor, a girl with streaks of white in her hair darting after him.

She tackles him before he gets anywhere close to the line and reclaims the flag in his hands.

She nods at the professor and Erik before taking the boy by the arm and escorting him back into the woods, presumably to the "jail."

"Who's your favorite?" Erik asks suddenly. "Which of these kids do you like the most?"

"I don't have favorites," Charles responds like a saint, his tone lofty.

"Everyone has a favorite."

"Well I don't."

"Everyone likes one more than the rest."

"Well, I've learned my lesson about that, now haven't I?" Charles retorts sharply.

Ouch. 

Erik imagines being watched by a live studio audience and being beset from all sides with an "ooooooh" of epic proportions. 

"It's... _human,"_ Erik forces the word out.

"You can say mutant if you really can't fathom humans and mutants being a part of the same species..." the telepath interrupts.

"To have favorites," Erik continues as though Charles hadn't interrupted at all. "You really don't like any one even a teensy bit more than the other?"

"No, I certainly do not," Charles insists adamantly.

"Because you're learned your lesson about having favorites."

"Have you considered entering the academic field? You're so quick on the uptake-"

"Be serious for a moment."

"I was. Seriously sarcastic."

"Have you considered being a comedian? You're so gifted with words."

"We would make quite a duo," Charles tilts his head, his voice full of so much attitude that Erik wants to laugh, release that giddy feeling swelling up in his chest.

"Just like the old days, huh... _Chuck?"_

"Exactly like the old days. You say something insulting, I respond in kind, we banter for a few minutes and-" Charles doesn't flush, but he does look a little embarrassed as he turns his head, preferring not to think about what usually followed playful verbal sparring in the "old" days, when they were young and had libidos more wild and energetic than a house of fratboys. Erik had a lot of frustrations and Charles was...well. Enthusiastic. And very adamant about his point of view, very adamant, so adamant that he pushed, and Erik pushed back, and all of that pushing, all of that friction- oh, Charles re-focuses on the present and decides not to think about it. 

Erik thinks about it, though.

He thinks about it for a little too long, because Charles suddenly frowns, stands up and flicks his forehead.

"None of that, now, we're chaperones."

"Mother henning."

"I don't do that."

"Don't go in my head if you don't like what's in there."

"I don't have to, I know what you're thinking of."

"Because you were thinking of it too?"

Charles pauses, looking distracted.

"One flag to go and they are in pursuit. It's 4 to 3, Alex has two, and Jean has one, and she's approaching us now."

"How exciting. Answer the question, Charles."

"I choose not to." 

"Well you know what's also just like the old days, Charles?"

Charles is abruptly torn away from the sight of his kids chasing one another and having all kinds of fun fighting in the woods to bring back flags and into his own present location, with Erik, who's once again edging closer. 

He touches his shoulder very, very lightly, as though to let him know he can shrug him off like before. 

"You and me talk, but never actually communicate. We skirt around the important issues by presenting parts of the arguments we want to have in the form of jokes, but never have a serious talk even though we both know we should, and then something happens and we're literally  _forced_ to talk about it. And then because we waited so long and skirted the issues, it's uglier than it would've been because we left it in the dark for too long."

Erik's looking at him, but Charles won't look at him, preferring to let his mind wander away from his present situation in favor of watching Kurt releasing Kitty from the other team's jail, dancing around Rogue like a crazed acrobat. 

"You know, we're a little old for that now, wouldn't you say? We're adults. Old men, almost. We can have a mature conversation, can't we, Charles?" 

The way he says his name gives him goosebumps. 

Goosebumps, with the temperature climbing above 85 degrees fahrenheit. 

He'd done that in the old days too.

Said, no, _whispered_ his name in a rough, quiet, intimate voice, raw but soft, promising but honest. 

Used to drive him crazy. 

Still does, but in a different way. 

_Not so different, Charles, admit it._

"You know, patience is supposed to go hand in hand with maturity," Charles says, voice a little too high-pitched for his liking. He hopes Erik doesn't notice, but he's sure he does, he always does. 

"I can be patient."

"I've never known you to be patient, Erik."

"Well we haven't seen each other in a while."

Charles starts to say something, although what he cannot say for sure, because his mind is drawing a blank, it's out of sharp insults and clever retorts, and he only has honesty left, a dangerous honesty that'll only end in bloodshed, but then they finally see red hair, they see Jean running expertly, with perfect track runner form, three mutants desperately throwing ice, glowing balls, and fire at her feet. Bobby lunges at her and shoots a steady stream passed her, and she almost slips, but there's a puff of smoke, and Kurt appears behind her, grabs her, and teleports her safely over it. 

Just inches before the finish line. 

And the two of them collapse, flag in hand, over it. 

Charles blows his whistle and projects his voice in all of his students' heads. 

**Blue team victory.**

Charles blinks as Logan emerges from the woods, from Blue territory. 

"Alright, kids, now we're gonna talk about what ya screwed up and what ya did wrong," he growls. 

Erik wrinkles his nose in distaste, but says nothing. 

"And then we're gonna go again." 

"Hey, what about you two get involved?" Tabitha calls over to them, running towards the mutants meeting in the middle, around Charles and Erik. "Erik's on our team, the professor is on your guyses' team?"

"No fair, we want Erik!" Kitty says, wagging her finger at her. 

"You don't even know what he can do," Bobby says. 

"He seems cool."

"He's not," Charles grumbles. 

"I'm pretty cool, Charles." 

"Well, I am an adult," Charles declares. "And I have papers to write and articles to edit. If you'll all excuse me..."

"Awww."

"He's right," Erik says, smiling a little uncomfortably at all of the children, who seem a little leery of him, even those who'd claimed him for their team, since he's a stranger. He looks right at Charles as he says, "We shouldn't fight." 

Charles huffs, unimpressed. 

**We _should_ talk, though. **

**In _my_ opinion, we  _should_ give Charles some time. **

Erik's uncomfortable smile morphs into a genuine one. 

**I'll be patient.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys seen Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them yet?
> 
> Gellert Grindelwald x Dumbledore is gonna be the Cherik of the HP fandom, I guarantee it. 
> 
> People don't really like shipping old male characters together. 
> 
> But they DO like shipping old male characters in a PREQUEL series who're now young and sexy and have some high octane emotions for one another. 
> 
> Gellert- Erik 
> 
> Hates Muggles/ non-mutants- totally feels betrayed by their best buddy who's not down for genocide and does evil things to cope. 
> 
> Dumbledore- Charles
> 
> Wants to live in harmony, grows up to be wise and fatherly and kind, totally...totally attracted to their evil best friend and wants to change them. 
> 
> It's perfect. 
> 
> I'm sorry, this note is off the rails. I'm off the rails. I have to leave.


	7. In Which Charles Thinks About When He Thought He Needed Erik But Didn't Because Who Needs Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?
> 
> ...I could see a Cherik AU in there.
> 
> Will I write it, well, maybe.

Charles doesn't see Erik very often and it's actually getting on his nerves. 

He knows he spends the majority of his time sitting up there in his room.

And that would be ok, except he's not doing anything. 

He's not pacing or moving out of his bed, or at least, he's not making much noise, so Charles _imagines_ he's moving very little. He only comes out to use the bathroom, eat dinner (sometimes lunch, but never breakfast). Occasionally he'll wave or grunt in acknowledgement to a pointed greeting from his old friend, but he doesn't make eye contact and doesn't seem to want to make any kind of conversation before he retreats back to his room. 

His behavior is rather puzzling. Charles can't help but be miffed by it. What's the point in coming, moving in, harassing him for the first few days, and then doing nothing at all? Why annoy him with his presence if he's not even going to  _do_ anything with it? 

Sometimes he does wander down to the kitchen looking for food, passing by Charles in the living room or dining room with only a wave of greeting, but he considers this to be just as if not more annoying because it just guarantees that he can't focus until Erik leaves. 

Erik doesn't seem particularly interested in life at the mansion either. He doesn't talk or interact with any of the children if he can help it, seeming just a little uneasy with them, Ororo especially. He smiles, but it's a nervous, queasy kind of smile, like he's smiling out of awkwardness, not amicability.

The kids seem unperturbed by his discomfort. 

Bobby has asked him several times to "fight him," Jean's offered to take him into town for anything he needs, Jamie's even asked him if he wanted to play football with him (and his army of clones can make up an entire team), but Erik's always given them that clumsy grin/ grimace and politely declined. 

He wouldn't even give a good excuse, or even any excuse. 

He just said no thank you, nodded, and then slipped away before they could pester him further. 

"Well what do you expect?" Raven had rolled her eyes as Charles vents some of his irritation to her. "Does he really seem like the type who'd enjoy entertaining teenagers?"

"That's not the point," Charles grumbles. "He's just sitting up there doing nothing. If he's going to stay here, then he could at least help out around here. Maybe give me a damn hand in the kitchen..."

"Are you...are you mad that your  _ex_ doesn't want to play with your kids?" Raven narrows her pretty eyes at him. 

"Very funny, Raven."

"He's a distant and aloof father who left before they remember him and now he's come back and he doesn't know what to do with himself!" Raven says dramatically. "Add that to the building tension between him and the husband who was doing just fine without him, whose life is now in turmoil as he struggles to deal with the re-emergence of feelings for his past flame. Watch as he struggles with his lingering resentment and pent-up hostility towards the man who left him with all those kids, and watch as those feelings of bitterness and heartbreak become tangled in renewed passion and red-hot lust-" 

"You've watched too many telenovelas," Charles says sternly. "Try visiting Peru instead of Venezuela next time. Get lost in the mountains and find yourself."

"-be careful, professor, or you just might find yourself in his room late at night, huh?" Raven puts her hand over her heart, making a scandalized face, but also giving Charles bedroom eyes at the same time. 

He pokes her in the side with a rolled up  _Time_ magazine and she giggles. 

"Just kick him out," she suggests. 

"...I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"... Any mutant who needs a place to stay-"

"Ok fine!" Raven shrugs. "Then suffer."

"Thanks, it's always so good talking to you. It's always such a comfort."

"Don't mention it," the blue-skinned woman yawns. Sometimes Charles is jealous of her anti-aging mutation. The woman is as energetic as the children and as beautiful as she was fifteen years ago. They're the same age, yet here he is, feeling like a middle-aged man with too many places to be at once, and here she is, looking like she just walked the red carpet of some hot new movie premiere. Emotionally, she doesn't seem to have aged either. She still craves an active night life, exciting evenings with strangers, dazzling trips around the world meeting new people, doing new things. 

At least, he thinks, she always comes back home. 

Even if she's away for a while. 

She does always find her way back here. 

And she at least tells him when she's leaving and when she'll come back. 

"You know, Erik looks pretty good, even after all these years," Raven says out of nowhere, her voice teasing, innocently observant. "If I wasn't seeing someone right now, he might've been due for a welcome-back present."

Charles's signature is looking a little shaky, she notices. 

"Is he seeing anyone?"

"No idea."

"Have you asked?"

"It's none of my business."

"A fine guy like that living under your roof and you don't even know-"

"He's a little old for me," Charles says sarcastically.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately, Charles? You're not exactly Peter Pan yourself. You can't get picky."

"I'm not looking for  _that,"_ the professor says crossly. "And especially not with him. I just...wish he'd get involved, is all. If he has to be here... I mean, Logan helps out, Hank teaches and grades and takes them on field trips, helps me in the kitchen, you keep an eye on them, deal with damages, make sure they have a ride to places, have plenty of fun, but he just sits up in his room. What kind of able-modied, able-minded adult comes to another adult's home for children and just decides to sequester himself away like some kind of monk?"

"If it bothers you that much, then go speak to him," Raven taps his head. "You two need to, anyway. Deal with some of that UST."

"What is UST? Wait. Don't tell me. I'll go see if he'll go on dinner detail with me. He can at least wash multiple dishes at once."

"That's true. Like in Harry Potter."

"What?"

"Don't be such an old man. And talk to him!" Raven calls as she trots away. A moment later, he hears a crash from somewhere upstairs and the sound of teenagers yelling furiously. "I'll deal with it."

Charles puts his hands on his head, his thumbs lightly clutching his temples, pressing his eyes shut. 

She was no help. 

He actually hadn't gone to talk to Erik after that.

Not that night. Not the next morning. Or even the next day. 

He feels a little flutter of nervousness in his belly every time he walks passed his hallway. 

He'd actually almost had a heart attack when he'd been passing by one day and as his eyes flickered briefly, as they automatically seemed to do every time, to his door, he'd heard a door creak. He'd jumped but as he blinked, he can see Erik's door has remained firmly closed shut. 

"Professor?"

And then he'd realized that someone in the hall opposite this one had opened the door. 

"Hello, Scott."

At some point, he's going to steel himself, walk promptly over to his door, knock, and force himself to stand face-to-face with Erik and give him that talk he'd been wanting. 

But he has no idea how far into the future that'll be. 

Charles knows he's only prolonging his own restlessness here, but what else can he do?

Erik's always been like a cat, anyway.

He didn't come when he was called, he didn't do what he was told, and if he came to you, he made it damn clear that he chose to do it, and you couldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do. He would talk when he was ready.  

It's both irritating and admirable. 

Charles resolves to give him a little longer. 

He's not taking up much space or causing trouble anyway. 

He's, at the very least, a well-behaved cat. 

* * *

 

The kids are all very polite. 

They're mostly well-behaved too. 

They occasionally use their powers rather destructively, get into petty squabbles, and resort to prank wars that leave entire rooms booby-trapped against anyone, not just their intended target, but they're kind to each other. They help each other with homework, or at least try to before they get carried away and just talk about their day. They sometimes hurt each other on accident, but the next second were laughing raucously about it while Hank patched them up. 

Even the moodier ones, the more serious ones like Ororo, Rogue, and Amara, still crack a smile or two at the Kitty, Kurt, or Bobby's antics. 

They're...

Really good kids. 

Erik feels like a creep for watching and listening so closely, but he can't help it. The walls aren't particularly thick, as it's an old building, and he's sat for hours in his room listening to Kitty arguing about different bands with Kurt, Jean talk to Scott about training suggestions she has, Jamie pester Sam and/or Alex to go with him to the movies or to the Game Stop or to the roller rink. 

He hadn't had a normal childhood. 

And he'd spent most of his young adult life fighting, moving rapidly, and planning his next move. If other people factored into his equation, then they were arranged like battleships, on coordinated lines. He doesn't remember the last time he spent time with someone just to spend time with them, other than- 

Well. 

 _The point_ is that he's finding these little teenage dramas very calming. Because they're very good kids. No matter how heated their issues, they always back down and are friends at least by the end of the week. Their problems seem to have easy root causes and simple solutions that benefit both parties. They never lose sight of their friendship with the other person, never let anything petty keep them apart for too long. 

He wishes it were always so simple. 

Still, as much as he likes these kids, and he's starting to remember their names and voices, if not their faces, they unnerve him when they meet him in person. 

They don't seem wary or disturbed by him, which isn't something he's quite used to. 

They smile politely, sometimes ask him if he wants to participate in some activity, baseball, soccer, attending a concert, checking on the flowers outside, looking at a science project. 

It's unnerving first because they seem utterly relaxed around him, second because he's a total stranger and here they are, asking him if he wants to spend time with them as though they're eager to invite him within their fold, and third because for all he knows about _their_ interests and hobbies and personalities now, he just doesn't know enough about himself to figure out how he wants them to see him. 

He doesn't know what he should be to them, if anything at all. Was Charles right? 

Was he really not going to stay here for long?

Did he perhaps know Erik better than he knew himself?

It's not so wild. 

A mind reader would know a mind better than it knew itself. The mind hides things from itself, after all. 

And Erik and Charles both know he's not the sedentary type. 

Even now, as content as he is for now, staying in one place, he knows eventually he will tire of this room, tired of this building, of these people. 

He wasn't built for domestic life. There's something wild inside of him that compels him to see the world, but not just see it,  _understand_ it. C _hange_ it. 

As interesting as he finds these kids, he knows he cannot live happily in this bubble forever. 

Domesticity might suite Charles, but it doesn't suit- well, no, that's not fair. 

Charles isn't exactly living in a bubble here. 

He's clearly got his finger on the pulse, his eye on the news, on pro-mutant politicians, on any mutant policies, on peculiar disturbances worldwide that could the work of powerful mutants. 

He's training his kids to save people. Fight one another, fight the forces of nature, fight themselves as they struggle to control their own powers. 

And he's teaching them his philosophy at the same time. 

His own values. 

His own experiences. 

There's something to be said about being a teacher, a mentor, Erik has been learning, day after day, week after week. 

Leaders might inspire followers, might teach them their philosophies and way of life, but teachers have a much...deeper connection to their students. They weren't merely authority figures, but parents, advisers, confidantes, friends. They not only offered knowledge, but advice, their experiences, their opinions, and a million other things, a vast array of tiny things like morality, like integrity, with subtle little things like treating every life form with respect, like apologizing and admitting wrongdoing even though as the teacher, they could easily preach that they could do no wrong. 

But perhaps he gives teachers too much credit.  

Maybe it's just Charles. 

He has a way with his kids. 

Erik watches him in action sometimes, listens to him lecture his kids during lunch after either a lesson or a training exercise, opens the window and strains his ears to hear Charles talking outside in the garden about ancient philosophies about the human concept of self on windless days.

As summer slides into autumn, as more children return to the mansion, and his room is in jeopardy, he wonders what it would've been like, if he'd let Charles teach him.

If he'd opened his heart more to the idea of mutant-human cooperation.

Of course, he won't change his mind about that.

He's held onto it for too long to simply let it go now.

But he thinks about it nonetheless and wonders about that tantalizing dream, that alternate past where he and Charles had worked side by side, fighting the world together...

He'd always imagined what it would have been like for Charles to join his side, but now he thinks about the opposite, if he'd joined him...

What a fantasy that is, one much too large for him, he finds, one that keeps his head busy with all of the millions of things that could've happened if he'd chosen another path...

But there's no changing it now. No fixing it.

Just dealing with its jagged trail, with the damage left behind.

He should really talk to Charles.

Especially since there are a lot of kids arriving and he knows he can't keep taking up space.

He's not staying all year, he can't, he'll get bored by then, or at least, he'll get bored of this cordial silence that he and Charles have been cultivating.

Now seems like the perfect time to talk.

Unfortunately, Charles, Raven, and Hank are out for the day. They'd taken all the kids on a visit to the Natural Science Museum, a large, lovely building with exhibits on early hominids, ocean life, and most importantly, evolution. 

He'd given them packets to do, so Erik imagines they'll be there for a wild. 

All's quiet in the mansion for the first time since he's been here. 

He's completely alone and this seems like a good a time as any to leave his room. 

And if he's completely honest with himself, this is a good time to take a closer look at everything in the mansion. 

He'd been carefully averting his eyes, edging out of the room as fast as he can, and generally ducking around people and things rather stealthily for most of his time here. 

He just doesn't want to get attached to this place in any way, take in too many details, tie down anything in his mind's eye, but now, in the privacy of this empty home, he allows himself to take a look at everything he's been purposefully missing.

And he can't help but be very, very drawn to Charles's office. 

It's neat and orderly, so he's careful not to touch anything, but his drawers are a little more his style, so messy and crammed full of paper that he can safely sift through it without worrying that Charles will notice anything.

A lot of receipts. 

Some letters to the government. 

Some letters from the government. 

Dry wall and plaster contractors. 

Building repair bills. 

Insurance payment records. 

A child's drawing of the statue of liberty with thank you written in green crayon. 

He can't resist smiling at that. 

As he's looking at it, however, he also notices a picture on the mantelpiece. 

At some point, Jean, Scott, Kurt, Kitty, Ororo, Hank, Raven, and Charles had taken a photo together, standing in front of the mansion. 

It doesn't look like a professional picture, because all of their eyes are closed, their mouths either open in laughter or strained tight in gleeful, uncontrollable smiles. From their clothes, he can guess that this was the picture on one of the brochures, but not the exact picture. More like one of the outtakes of the picture, like they'd taken the official picture for the brochure, and then started laughing and losing their composure and then had their picture taken. 

He looks closer at it and imagines being in that moment, standing beside Charles and hearing everyone laughing around him, having a grand old time doing the most mundane thing, not fighting for their lives, not struggling for survival, but having a laugh like the world was full of them. 

Maybe that kind of thing would've angered him in the past, made him seethe with rage over their blindness, their "weakness," but nowadays, that anger stays firmly in its cage. 

All he feels now is longing. 

"What the fuck are you doin' in here, where's the professor?"

Erik is startled, but doesn't show it. 

He merely turns towards Logan with icy indifference. 

"Out. I could take a message for you, if you'd like."

"That's hilarious," the man growls. "I'll just wait."

"He's going to be a while," Erik says. 

"Explains why you're going through his shit."

"I wasn't doing that."

"Sure."

 _If you tell him, I'll just deny it,_ Erik thinks childishly. 

"I'm not gonna tell 'im," Logan snorts, his hands in his jeans, his waist jutted out with a confident swagger, cigar firmly clamped in his teeth. "That's between you two."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Sure, bub. Say, what are ya still doing 'round here? I don't see you babysittin' on weekends. It's almost September, that's when most of the kids come back. He's gonna need some more hands. You gonna keep sleepin' the weeks away?"

"It's hardly your business," Erik frowns, giving him a sharp, but calm look. Logan isn't impressed. 

"Just sayin', I'm surprised you're even here. What are ya, recruitin'? 'Cause I don't think these kids would be interested. They're good kids."

"Why I'm here also isn't really your business."

"No, but Chuck is a friend of mine, and I don't like guys who take advantage of his generosity and good nature. That's why I stick around from time to time. Gotta make sure the guy's niceness doesn't get away from him. 'I'll welcome any mutant who asks-' is a nice idea, but some of us are nothing but trouble, you feel me, buddy?" Logan huffs, still working on that cigar. 

"Some of us certainly are," Erik smiles tightly. "Say, when did you decide to lend a helping hand? I remember you, we tried recruiting you once. Why the change of heart now? Guy like you doesn't seem like the type of guy who enjoys working with kids and hanging out with a professor all day. I would've pegged you as the type who enjoys hard liquor and biker bars." 

"You don't know much about anyone who lives in this house, do ya, friend?" Logan has a small sly grin on his face. "Understandable, since you haven't been here for that long."

The acid in his voice could melt bars. 

But Erik's heard worse, much worse, from people who've meant a lot more to him. 

"You know, you made a lot of assumptions about me, so do me the courtesy of hearing a few about you from me, alright, bub? Chuck is the professor, but I'm gonna throw a hypothesis at ya, alright? Now you left, what, decades ago? Only ever really showed up on Charles' radar when you were in the newspapers by the name Magneto, sometimes in prison, sometimes on the run. Sometimes accused of being a terrorist, a freedom fighter, an activist. Like alright, fine, that's your decision, I respect that. Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. That's his right. But tell me, Magneto, if it's his right to barge back into someone's life, their home, take residence up in it, and walk around like he owns the place? Goes through his stuff, treats his charges like they're worthless-"

"I have done no such thing to his 'charges,'" Erik protests. 

"Ya don't bother lending him a hand, what else can anyone assume? Do you not like 'em? Don't wanna bother with 'em? Or maybe you're just here to brood and sit up in you room acting like you're so damn superior that you can't toss a damn ball around with one of 'em? Listen, I dunno why you're here, or what kind of shit you're thinking about or going through or whatever, I'm not your damn therapist. But I think if you're here for Chuck, then be here for Chuck. And stop thinking about yourself. If you're here to make amends or whatever, then the absolute worst thing to do is pretending his kids don't exist. That they don't matter. Because those kids mean the world to him, friend, and the key to 'getting' the modern day Chuck. If you're looking for reconciliation, then take an interest in what he cares about. Better yet,  _care_ about what he cares about. Just a suggestion, bub." 

Logan seems done talking, appearing rather harsh and rough-edged, but also just a hint pleased with himself.

He turns to leave, still sucking on that disgusting smelling cigar, but Erik speaks up.

"What's your relationship with him, then, since you seem to know him so well?"

Logan pauses at the door. 

"I don't swing that way, you can stop worrying about that," he says gruffly. "But he is my friend, and I look out for my friends, unlike you. So if it looks for even one second that he wants you out, I'll haul your ass out of here faster than a Harley-Davidson, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Erik says, voice heavy with sarcasm. 

But as Logan takes a step away, into the hallway, he can't resist just one more question. 

"Why do you call him Chuck?"

Logan sways a little, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he pauses. 

"Charles was always just too stuffy for me," he says. "I knew him before he was a grumpy old professor, and Charles just fit a grumpy old professor, an old almost-dead grandpa, or some kind of elitist scholar-"

"All of which he is," Erik interrupts. 

Logan huffs, but it might've been a laugh, the young mutant isn't sure. 

"Sure. If I'm completely honest, the only reason I call him Chuck is because he dislikes it. Makes him feel like that rat from the arcade, that weird cartoon rat, you know, from the commercials?"

"You do it because he dislikes it...?"

"Just to remind him to lighten up from time to time," Logan waves a lazy hand at him. "And also just because why not? It fits." 

"It doesn't, really, he looks like a Charles."

"That's your opinion."

"That's all we've been exchanging, isn't it?" Erik asks. "Opinions?"

"Sure," Logan sniffs. "Some threats, maybe. Promises."

"Ah."

"You'd best be careful, though," his voice begins to fade as he resumes walking down the hall. Erik can only barely hear him as he adds, as he murmurs: " _I'm_ here to stay, and you can count on that, bub."

And Erik can really only feel a grudging relief pooling in his belly, because-

 _At least he had_ someone _he could count on over the years._

He thinks about how he'd jokingly accused Charles of having a "type" earlier.

Well, he didn't, now that he thinks about it.

His kindness and open honesty and sense of easy right and wrong just drew grizzle-hearted misfits like the two of them to him. Something about his optimism just drew pessimistic people, who couldn't help but listen to him, even though they had totally opposing viewpoints

For better or worse, Charles was _magnetic,_ he could draw  _people_ to him.  

And although he's not sure if he likes Logan, he must admit, he has a point. 

Maybe he'd been scared to interact with Charles' kids, whether he thought his own values, experiences, and "teachings" would corrupt the minds Charles had worked so earnestly to cultivate, or whether he was just a coward who didn't know what or who he wanted to emulate as their new role model, or whether he was just too confused over his intent, over his role here, in Charles' life, in these kids' lives, but now he thinks he'll try Logan's suggestion. 

If he wants to get to Charles, then he supposes he'll have to get him through his children first. 

The man loves them and his school more than anything, maybe even that staunch moral code he's upheld for most of his life. Erik has no doubt in his mind that even that code might be twisted or tossed out completely if his children were ever in extreme danger. 

So maybe this is the middle ground they'd always been looking for, that mediator that they were never able to find because they'd been two hot-headed young men, eager to defend their ideals. Maybe understanding both of these things, learning more about them and actively engaging in Charles' world, would bring down the walls they'd spent so many years blocking up between them. If Charles felt like he'd just left him, then he'd show him he was back and he was making an effort to make  _some_ connections before he left, the closest thing to a promise he'd ever make him. If Charles felt like his ideas were always too radical, that his personality too wild to ever control, he'll show him he's at least reasonable. His school will be their common ground. 

And if Charles believes, subconsciously, in a corner of his heart where he never ventures anymore, where he'd sooner die of natural causes then ever enter and bring the truth out with him, that he does not care about him, never did, or at least not enough to stay... he'll show him that he can take care of the things Charles treasures. If he believes they are precious, worthy of his time and effort, then they matter to him, because they matter to Charles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I can never get Logan's character down. Like in my head, he's that yappy poofy growly grandma dog that yaps at everything, but has surprisingly sharp teeth when it goes for your ankle. 
> 
> .... it's like 1:54 am, ok, I have class in like six hours...oh for god's sake, goodnight.


	8. In Which Charles Is Confounded By Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, scrubs. 
> 
> If your pro-Trump relatives are driving you crazy, hit me up on my tumblr (animentality), I'm always down to party like a bleeding-heart liberal. 
> 
> I only assume you're liberal-esque because you're reading Cherik fanfiction, which is number one, gay, and number two, just so typical of the selfish lazy impractical time-wasting pansy ass liberal. 
> 
> (As you can see, it's already been a fun Thanksgiving, my uncle phil's in town). 
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Here's the cherik you didn't ask for.

"..."

"...what?"

"..."

"... _what?"_

"Are you going to explain yourself?" Charles asks tightly. 

"I...plead the fifth," Erik replies. 

The telepath narrows his lovely blue eyes at him. 

"That's how you want to be?" 

"It's my right as an American."

"You're not American."

"According to my passport, I am."

"Which one? Because I was under the impression that you possessed several. The first of which I helped you fake, if my elderly memory can recall..." 

"Still a valid passport." 

"Oh really, what was your name, again, _Michael_?"

"Friends call me Erik. Erik...Fassbender."

"You're being evasive."

"Well you're... _probing_."

**No I am not.**

"That is probing."

Charles scowls. 

"You're not going to tell me why there's a hole in my office window."

"...there's a hole in your office window?" Erik feigns surprise. 

"Was it Bobby?" Charles presses. "He likes to play with his chemistry set."

"Bobby was cleaning the X-Jet. Hank was punishing him for taking Scott's car out for a joyride without permission."

Charles' eyebrows shoot up in surprise, impressed that he's involved enough in mansion affairs to know the latest of student dramas. 

"Scott and Jean like to practice together. It would be easy for a slip up to happen, they've done it before. She gets too enthusiastic and he misses an object she throws at him or she tries to divert his beam and sends it flying through my window. I've seen it almost happen a lot." 

"They would tell you immediately," Erik says. 

"True... It couldn't have been Amara, there are no burn marks. Might've been Tabitha, but it's not shaped quite right for that, and again, no burn marks. Sam's wild, Jamie is clumsy, Roberto likes to rough house. Alex's powers are difficult to control, and _he_ wouldn't tell me. Which one is it, Erik? You've been here all day. And you're hiding something."

"I'm a mysterious man, I'm hiding a lot of things," Erik says glibly, biting his lip and giving the professor his best cryptic face. 

"You know, you don't have to cover for them to be their friend," Charles says, his tone a little kinder. 

"You think that's what I'm doing?" Erik squints at him, skirting around him to get to the fridge. 

"I know it is."

"Well, you might have a phD in EVERY subject, but you don't have a phD in-in my mind," Erik finishes lamely. "In...Erik psychology. That's not what I'm doing at all."

Charles gives him a disappointed look. 

"Erik psychology?"

"I... it's early. Let me get warmed up, I'm not there just yet."

"Maybe I don't have a phD, but I at least have a minor in that very selective program," Charles says with a bitter smile. "Don't think I didn't see you changing one of Scott's tires..."

"I live here, it's the least I could do-"

"You changed it because Bobby popped it driving seventy miles per hour down a mountain," Charles interjects. "And I know you were an accomplice, and a willing one not an accidental one, because Hank tells me the rims weren't touched at all. So Bobby called the mansion for help, you picked up, and then you went out to drag the car back here to change the tire, didn't you?"

"You know, I've always thought minors were pretty useless..." Erik trails off. "You took what, six classes?"

"Well, my professor was pretty poor. Very vague," Charles gives him a hard look. But his eyes are smiling and there's a grin being held back behind the faux-stern look. "Very strange, though, that Bobby confessed to driving Scott's car without permission when there was no longer any evidence of his wrongdoing...almost like his conscience was too strong for him to ignore." 

"He's a good kid."

"Hm. Hm," Charles nods sagely. "You know what else is strange?"

"Your inability to mind your own business?"

"I think caring about your children being corrupted by a bad influence is pretty normal, actually."

"Oh, am I a bad influence?" Erik asks smoothly. 

"You know, I didn't say that, but if the shoe fits-" Charles responds, just as smoothly. "I also can't help but feel like that's a confession-"

"I want a lawyer."

Erik turns away from him with an entire milk carton in his hand. He pulls the utensil drawer open from across the kitchen and pulls out a spoon. 

Charles grins at his turned back, unable to help himself. 

"You know, with all of these kids coming in..."

"Charles, I've been meaning to ask you about that, are you going to be operating at full capacity next month?" Erik frowns at the subject change. 

"Well I can't help how many children come to us. I may have to expand the mansion at some point, but for now, we're fine just working at full capacity-"

"You can't. Even if you have enough room, these mutant kids are at least 30 times more destructive than human kids-" 

"I know, there's a hole in my office window," Charles blinks at him over his teacup. 

"There'll be worse than that if you're operating at full capacity. It's already looking crowded on the top floor..."

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" the professor snickers. "That I'm going to toss you out because we don't have space?"

"No..."

"Good, because I offer you the couch if that happens," the telepath gestures vaguely in the direction of the living room. "Or a nice pen outside under the stars..."

"As appealing as that sounds, I think if I have the choice between the two, I would prefer to remain indoors. But that's not what I was concerned about," Erik pauses, tapping his spoon against his newly poured bowl of cereal. He's not picky, he eats almost any cereal he finds in the cabinets, and as a result, he's been eating a great deal of sugary cereals since the kids love them. He slides it in and stirs it idly, without thinking, feeling Charles' gaze on him. "I'm more concerned with the kind of strain this'll have on you. Are you teaching everyone full time?"

"Some of them attend regular public middle and high school, you know. They just come back here to live, take extra lessons with us, learn how to use their powers, and learn how to work as a team with other students. I'll still be teaching Jean, Scott, Rogue, all of the students who stay permanently, but I'll also have extra lessons for the other students too. It's fine, don't worry about it. Just clean up after yourself and try not to make anyone cry," Charles, feeling playful, pulls the spoon out of his bowl and pops it into his mouth, licking the milk off of it. Erik stares. 

"I'll do my best, but no guarantees."

"But back to that window situation..."

" _I_ didn't do it. That's all I'm going to tell you."

* * *

Hadn't been Jean.

Hadn't been Scott. 

Hadn't been Kurt or Kitty. 

Hadn't been Bobby, Tabitha, Roberto, Sam, Rogue, or Jamie. 

It had been all of them. 

Plus Logan. 

And Erik had just a little to do with it, just by being an observer. 

After he'd had that talk with Logan, he'd been..."observing" more training sessions with Logan. 

Simple exercise this time: someone was hanging over a pit full of imaginary crocodiles or spikes or flesh-eating rats, "whatever yer little hearts want." They're hanging upside down from a tree with a four foot pit underneath them. 

You had to get them down without letting them fall into the pit. 

Kurt of course had it easy. He just teleported into mid-air, grabbed Kitty, his partner, and safely brought her away from the trap. 

It was relatively easy for Jean, as she simply untied the knot and caught her partner, Scott, telekinetically, before he fell. 

The trouble came when Kitty had tried to save her partner Kurt. 

Now she'd hesitated at the idea of leaping over the pit, tackling him, and making the both of them intangible. She'd glanced down at the hole, shuddered, and said she wouldn't do that. 

When Logan asked her why she couldn't just phase him through the ropes and come across the other side, she said that she worried about missing her timing and falling into the hole and maybe falling until she passed through the center of the earth. 

She said it jokingly, but seemed nervous at the idea anyway, so Logan shakes his head and says fine, but don't screw up then. 

But instead, her only other option was not to use her powers to rescue the victim. 

And that meant teamwork. 

So because asking Jean to simply use her own solution to help her was cheating, she'd enlisted Scott to help. 

Her plan was to have Scott cut the rope and to tackle Kurt at the exact right time to push him over the pit and safely to the other side. 

It was simple and just required a little timing, right?

The idea of the simple warm-up exercise was just to make sure one faced with some kind of James Bond-esque trap in which a victim was tied up and hanging over a death pit would know immediately what to do. 

Actually, the most important part of the exercise was the second part, in which you were not allowed to use your powers to do it. 

Logan had devised the exercise to show the kids problem-solving, but then decided that it was too easy, and made the second half a no-powers exercise. 

He was actually a little proud because Charles liked that kind of shit, teaching the kids not to take their powers for granted and appreciate how difficult not having them would be. He'd be so pleased with him. 

But things went awry in the first exercise, and he'd had to feign being out of the country. 

The problem, see, wasn't with Kitty's plan. 

Not exactly. 

It just so happened that the others, also working on their little pit problems, were definitely not aware of their surroundings.

Jamie, trying to get to a tied-up, rather disgruntled Rogue, had split up into several Jamies. He'd had one untying the rope, another ready to jump and push her over the pit, and another standing on the other side to cushion her fall. 

Again. Not a terrible idea. 

But the Jamie on the other side of the pit wasn't looking. 

He'd backed up at the last second, and as Rogue came over the pit, she pushed him back, and he hadn't been looking; his shoe slips on the wet leaves, and he falls backwards. 

Into Bobby, who'd simply been shooting ice into the hole and filling it up so he could easily take his partner down.

His ice spewed in the wrong direction, freezing the ground beneath Scott's feet just as he was trying to shoot his visor towards the rope. 

He'd slipped, his optical blast slipping with him. 

Luckily, Kitty's quick on the update. She ducks. 

But Kurt isn't so quick. 

Jean, seeing him not reacting in time, tries to divert Scott's beam around him. 

And it works. 

But it works too well. 

It curves right around him and veers right into the professor's office window. 

Good teamwork. 

They'd worked as a team to destroy Charles' things. 

The blast, concussive rather than inflammatory in nature, doesn't leave burns, but it does absolutely shatter Charles' desk lamp and knock down his entire mantelpiece, leaving all of his framed pictures lying on the ground in piles of glass. 

Logan had looked at Erik and Erik had looked at Logan, and then they'd looked at the kids, and then back at each other. 

"I was asleep," Erik says. 

"I was in Canada."

They know they should tell the professor what happened, but Logan doesn't really want to deal with any lectures on not placing the pits further apart, or not having them all do it at once, or not letting them use their powers in the first place, and Erik doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, nor the shot messenger. 

And the kids, all feeling responsible, don't confess. They can't rat each other out.

At the very least, they do immediately volunteer to help Charles in cleanup when it's discovered a few hours later.

But they all feign ignorance of who was responsible. 

And they all seem equally as guilty to Charles, acting furtive and ashamed and not making eye contact and thinking nonsense words whenever they thought their professor was staring at them a little too long. 

It might seem incredible that a telepath couldn't figure it out, but all of them felt equally as guilty, so he couldn't pinpoint who or what had done it exactly. 

Erik's overwhelmed with a childish sense of mischievous glee and the satisfaction of holding a secret from someone. 

It was actually a guilty pleasure, smiling secretively and knowingly at the offending children every time Charles glanced at them suspiciously. Feeling like he was a part of something. And a part of something so innocent and silly. 

And it was a good conversation starter too. 

Sharing in a dirty little secret naturally brought its conspirators together. 

Which he'd also found when he'd answered a phone ringing in the mansion. He'd been feeling a little ballsy and more at home than he'd ever felt anywhere, at-home enough to answer the landline anyway, and he'd heard Bobby's panicked voice saying that Scott's car's tire was blown out and please help me hide this, whoever's on the line!

Dangerous, considering it could've been Scott or Charles who answered the phone. 

But lucky for him, it had been Erik, and he'd taken Hank's car out to the location, and, relishing in the chance to both impress a child and flex his ability in a way he hasn't for a while now, he'd lifted the car and driven down with Bobby in the passenger seat and a car flying beside them.

He'd earned Bobby's eternal gratitude and respect that day. 

Both for helping him and for being able to hold an entire car with his mind while driving a speeding convertible down a mountain top. 

Bobby had grinned at him and insisted on a high five every time they met in the hallway. 

Charles' eyes had narrowed suspiciously the first time he'd observed Bobby greeting Erik like he was his favorite football player and slapping him an extremely vigorous five in the hallway one afternoon, Erik's eyes darting contemplatively towards him as he did it. 

He'd thought about it, and then sighed. 

It wasn't morally correct for Bobby to get away with using Scott's car without permission. 

And sure, he's not the most morally correct guy. 

He could argue that Bobby was the stronger person for using Scott's trust and his own guile to drive his car every other night, living his life with abandon, having as much fun as he wanted because he had the nerve and power to do so... 

But Charles' voice in his head nags him not to corrupt his children. 

Or...go behind his back. 

Not again. 

So he...encourages Bobby to go to the professor and admit to it, like a man, like a mutant, loud and proud. 

And if he didn't, then he would tell the professor. 

And even though Bobby had pouted and had viewed him much less favorably after that, he's still glad he'd gotten him to admit it. 

Maybe he didn't necessarily agree that it was wrong, but he did know that he didn't want to go behind Charles' back. 

His moral code and philosophy might not change, but right now, he does want to earn Charles' trust. 

So if none of the kids or Logan tells Charles, he will, eventually. 

But he does so hope someone else will do it.

He'd rather not have to be the one who has to rat out the others. 

And besides, he's a little old to be a teenager's  _friend._ He does need to be a responsible adult here and there. 

Be mature. 

"You know, being mature doesn't mean you can't be the  _fun_ parent," Mystique had quipped when he'd told her quietly in the kitchen, the two of them glancing at the closed door of Charles' study. 

He disagrees.

The fun parents aren't the mature ones. 

Charles is mature. 

He's not a fun parent. 

He's a good parent, but he's not fun. 

"The kids need a fun parent too," Mystique grinned. 

"You're their fun parent."

"No, I'm more like their fun older sister," she leans against the sink, washing dishes, using the sprayer. He pulls it out of her hand and sprays it briefly at her. "Ack! Goddamnit, Erik!" 

She laughs. 

"See, you should be the fun parent. I'm not always around, I'm not responsible enough to even be considered a parent, and I don't think Charles has it in him to be the fun parent, and since you're sticking around, it might as well be you, right? You _are_ sticking around, right?"

The tone of her voice changes. 

They'd kept a cordial distance, an amicable work relationship, from one another, their romantic past tightly locked in a chest and buried under the rubble of a stadium, but sometimes he wonders... 

And then moments like this answer all of his questions. 

Her beautiful eyes aren't playful as she turns to stare evenly at him, her face friendly, but firm. She's no longer the infatuated, impassioned young woman she still appeared on the surface to be, but... a more somber, wizened one, with worldly experience dealing with men and children and men who left their children. There's a certain friendliness, but it's guarded. 

And he's fine with that, he's finding. 

They'd had something in the past, but as time moved on and as she began to drift away from him, searching for something that couldn't be found in just one person, he too had grown, and he'd let her go because he knew she needed her space, her independence. She wasn't the type who settled for just one person, and he respected that. A woman who could become anyone didn't belong to anyone. 

They'd separated, but somehow ended up right back here. 

Right back to _him_. 

Erik smiles at Mystique-Raven. 

"For the moment, yes."

"That's not reassuring. He needs more than just a moment of your time, he's not a telemarketer."

"Clever wordplay."

"Thank you." 

"You know, I knew we would leave together... and I could've guessed that we would separate, find our own paths...but I really never would've guessed we would come full circle and end up back here together. Would you have?" Erik asks conversationally. 

"... If it had been anyone other than Charles? Absolutely not. But because it's Charles? Absolutely. He's almost...well, not to be funny, but magnetic," she bites her lip as she snorts. "Maybe we didn't know it until we got older, but we were going to come back to him eventually. He's something special."

Now as Erik hears someone walking outside of his door, someone he doesn't know, since the voice is unfamiliar, he does think about how special Charles is. 

He shouldn't have been surprised he would come back to him. 

Maybe he can't, won't stay forever. 

Raven is right. 

Charles deserves much more than a moment from him. 

He doesn't know right now if he can give him that. But for now, he can at least enjoy this moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...the x mansion in x men evolution has like, two floors, and the x mansion in the Fassbender/McAvoy universe has three, but the x mansion in the original X-men series has like...two and a half floors. The x mansion in the animated series has three. The official Marvel database says it has five, which may or may not include the basement and the lower basement. So... I guess I'll go for a healthy three floors with two basement levels. 
> 
> Sure. 
> 
> You guys have a happy murder-free Thanksgiving. You are stronger than your relatives. Don't fight them, it's what they want.


	9. In Which Charles Still Doesn't Need Anyone Especially Not Erik But He's Glad He's There Anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love aquarium dates. 
> 
> This aquarium doesn't exist, it's just a mix of the ones I've been to.
> 
> If you're gonna ask someone out, take them to an aquarium. 
> 
> They don't seem romantic, but trust me, they totally are, they have their own mood lighting and you can watch fish while you hold hands and make out in front of the save the dolphins fundraiser lady.

Erik watches the bus roll up and winces. 

"We couldn't take the jet?"

"And park it where?" Charles asks. 

Erik gives him that. 

But still, just the thought of being trapped on that bus with forty rowdy mutant children plus Raven and Charles makes him feel just a little queasy. 

"How many hours away is it?" he asks Charles as he eyes the narrow stairway leading up into the massive vehicle. 

"Four," Charles hefts a bag over his shoulder. 

Erik stares at it, confused by its size and lumpiness. 

"What do you have in there?"

"Water bottles."

Erik pokes it. 

"That's not the only thing in there, I'm sure."

"No, this is my day-out bag. Whenever I take the kids out on a field trip, I have to bring all the necessaries, the essentials, you know," Charles jumps back as the bus driver opens up the storage compartment of the bus. "You know, band-aids, snacks, pencils, pens, paper, inhaler-"

"None of your kids are asthmatic-"

"Just in case. Spare shoes, pants, shirts, Caprisuns, supplemental materials about the exhibits, maps, spare maps, flashlight-"

"Why would you need a flashlight?"

"In case."

"Of what?"

Charles ignores him. 

"Batteries, phone chargers, hairbands, pins, wristbands-"

"Oh no, you're giving them wristbands?" Erik groans as Charles pushes the ridiculous bag as far as he can into the compartment. Raven runs passed the two of them, charging into the bus, just as excited as the kids. "They're teenagers, for god's sake."

"I just want to be able to spot them-"

"You really think you can't spot your own kids in a crowd?" Erik asks exasperatedly. "You're a telepath."

"And aquariums are noisy."

Erik huffs, but he can't resist smiling as he follows Charles onto the bus, the last one to do so. The door closes with a quick snap. 

Charles sits down in the first row of the bus and Erik sits in the row across from him. Raven's sitting a row behind them, talking excitedly to a boy whose name he hasn't learned. 

He hasn't been relegated to the couch yet, but he's wedged in east corner now, in one of the smaller rooms. He's so close to the living room now that he feels like every day he gets closer and closer to being on the couch. He wonders if he'll accept his fate gracefully or go down with a fight. 

Or leave altogether. 

But his mind rejects the idea almost immediately. 

Not yet. 

He hasn't been feeling that complacency yet, the feeling that makes his skin crawl, the urge that sets off an unbearable burning itch in his blood to _escape_.  Staying in one place feels a little too much like being in a prison of another design, cozy or not, surrounded by friends or not. The walls just start to bend inward. His senses dull, his reactions slow. He starts to feel uneasy,  _soft._ For a man used to being on the run, to risking life and limb for an ideal, settling into domestic life isn't easy, or even possible. 

But strangely, this time he hasn't been feeling anything of the sort despite doing relatively little. 

He watches training sessions, sometimes sits in class to distract Charles and occasionally argue with him mentally as the professor struggled to continue teaching, sometimes helps Raven set up something fun, like a relay race. He avoids Logan, but sometimes the man glances up at him and nods when he enters the room the surly mutant happens to be in, and that seems like progress. 

It's routine, but it doesn't feel cyclical or endless. 

The kids keep life lively. 

Amara sets off the fire alarm melting her iPhone, Tabitha burns a hole through her bedroom floor and showers his head in plaster by accidentally tossing one of her energy balls into her backpack with a pencil, Kurt gets a cold and every time he sneezes, he teleports somewhere new in the house, scaring the living daylights out of anyone present. 

There's something about mutant kids that keep the boredom at bay, Erik thinks as the bus pulls away from the mansion, beginning its four-hour-trip through two cities to get to the largest aquarium in the state.

"You know, Charles, you could just let them run wild. Tell them we can all meet at the gift shop or something," Erik suggests.

Charles, his face buried in an oceanography book, squints at him like an elderly turtle. 

"And let them inflict untold chaos and misery on an unsuspecting public? I think not, dear."

Erik feels a little warm jolt in his stomach. 

Charles doesn't even look up from his book, turning pages with a furrowed brow. 

"I believe this is inaccurate..."

"Have faith in them. They'll behave," Erik tries.

"You know this from experience?" Charles asks dryly. "You do know that if one of them breaks  _glass_ in an aquarium, it'll be much, much worse than, say, an office window?"

Now the professor looks at him, and it's Erik's turn to look away, out the window.

"If _you're_ not going to tell me, then can you at least tell me when I can expect a confession?" Charles sighs. 

"I don't know," Erik murmurs. "But the kids will be fine in a public space, they're not animals."

"If they get into trouble, this aquarium is huge. I wouldn't be able to get there in time to solve the problem," Charles insists. 

"What's the point of being a telepath if you have to physically  _be s_ omewhere to solve a problem?" Erik teases. "That seems besides the point."

"That's not the-my range could manage it," Charles says, affronted. "But if there's more than one incident or if there's a way to smooth over a conflict without using my powers, then I would rather have everyone together to deal with it. I want to encourage the children to solve their problems without their powers anyway."

"But they'll always have their powers," Erik leans forward to look more closely at Charles. "What's the point in learning to handicap themselves?"

"They should be able to exercise self control," the professor says a little testily, clutching the book a little harder in his hands. "And use their personal judgement and wit to figure their way out of a situation without immediately outing themselves as mutants."

"'Outing?' You say that like they should have to hide," Erik puts his fingers together as though he were contemplating some deep life question, but he's actually just trying to keep his voice measured. 

"Oh, let's not do this," Charles says acidly. "Not in front of the children."

"To what are you referring?" Erik replies irately. 

"You take every little word I say and make it out to be something it isn't," Charles snaps. "You completely turn my words against me with some clever line that sounds deep, but is as shallow as a kiddie pool, and then you try to draw an even worse response out of me in order to further flip my own words against me. We're not having this discussion. It's happened far too many times and I will not be drawn into another pointless effort."

"You're just deciding not to talk about it?" Erik scowls. 

"I am. It's irrelevant. I'm in charge of the field trip and you're just here to help me herd them from point a to point b. You're essentially a ranching dog."

"A dog, huh?" Erik rolls his eyes, some of the tension dissipating as he forces himself to let go of his armrests and sits back, facing forward. Charles, who'd been stiff as a rock, relaxes slightly, his fingers relinquishing their fierce hold on his book. 

"Try and be a good boy."

Erik doesn't talk to him for the rest of the trip. 

* * *

As they pull up to the steps of the aquarium, there's a chaotic scramble as everyone is woken up by Raven and told to gather all of their things and put them in bags and pockets and clean up their trash. Erik, who'd fallen asleep sometime during the trip, wakes up just as the bus shudders to a stop. He stands up and leans over Charles to get a look at the aquarium, knocking his book, sitting closed on his lap, off of him. "No respect for personal space," Charles grumbles into Erik's chest as it passes by. "Hush," Erik says, waving his hand in his face as he gets a good look at the aquarium. 

It is indeed very, very large. 

There are several stories, all encompassed by glass walls. From here, he can see plants through the glass, some kind of arboretum blocking the inside from view for at least three floors. 

It's rather impressive looking. 

As the kids all gather outside of the bus and Charles has a word with the driver, he scoots over to Raven, who's assigning group buddies. 

"Is Charles really going to make us go through this entire building in the same group? We could divide and conquer."

"We're not trying to take over the aquarium," she snorts back. "We're going to go through it as a group."

"But some of the kids are surely more interested in some exhibits more than others, right? All of these kids are over thirteen, right?"

"Jamie is 12," Raven shrugs. 

"Same difference. They can take care of themselves in a place of learning, right? Charles trusts his students, doesn't he? Or maybe he doesn't, not at all," Erik says loudly, suddenly aware that Charles is no longer talking to the bus driver and he's glaring disapprovingly at him through a throng of students. "I guess he just doesn't think you're all capable of taking care of yourselves." 

"What?" Bobby exclaims. "But we're loads responsible. Oh, professor, can we split up? That would be so cool."

"We're not splitting up," Charles says. 

"But sir-"

"This isn't a negotiation, Bobby, Erik," Charles adds, giving him a pointed look. 

Erik frowns at Raven, who shrugs, not caring either way. 

Part of the reason he was trying so adamantly to get Charles to let the kids split up is because he honestly would've loved to just spend time with Charles.

He doesn't think they've ever actually spent time together in any recreational way since he got here. They've passed briefly in the halls, exchanged some quips, gotten into minor arguments at dinner, surrounded by kids, and when they were doing the same chore, they would occasionally converse lightly, but he doesn't think that he and Charles, just like normal, uncomplicated friends, have gone to do something together to have a lunch or a drink or anything not involving the kids. They still hadn't played a game of chess. He hadn't pushed it, but he'd occasionally, maybe a little blatantly, tried to make himself available. He set up the chess board strategically outside of whichever room he was in or occasionally set it up and pretended to play against himself when Charles walked by. When he felt that was too obvious, he'd slipped into rooms Charles was either watching something in or reading a book in, and more often than not, Charles did not immediately get up and leave. 

Which, he supposes glumly, as they walk through the entrance of the facility, is sort of spending time together. 

He does surprisingly find himself enjoying the aquarium, however. 

Despite having to play "ranching dog," he finds his role mostly agreeable. The kids are surprisingly manageable, quieting down and only shuffling and giggling quietly as they shift from place to place. 

Charles tends to direct them methodically from exhibit to exhibit in the front while Raven hovers somewhere in the group to make sure no one's getting into any mischief, and to keep a headcount on the situation, and Erik lingers in the back to make sure no one drifts behind. It's a decent system, although Erik stifles a laugh at how it must look, having three grown adults hovering around a large group of mostly teenagers like helicopters surrounding a group of escaped prisoners. But it doesn't allow him the opportunity to talk to Charles or do anything other than watch him back from a distance, which is a damn shame. 

It's still not a bad time, though. He rather likes aquariums, he finds. 

They're quieter than zoos, since a lot of the rooms are very dark, lit only by tanks and glow-in-the-dark signs, and the funny little floating creatures that look like nothing he's ever seen before.

He's not sure if he's ever been to an aquarium. 

He didn't have a childhood, nor an adulthood that allowed for such a leisurely visit. 

As he peered into a tank with an enormous, rather sleepy-looking octopus drifting lazily inside, its suckers firmly stuck to the glass, he's surprised to see Charles' reflection in the glass. 

"Aren't you worried the kids will escape out the front?" he says just a little sarcastically. 

"Oh no, Raven's now manning the front, soldier," the man smiles. "She's secured the frontier. I'm taking middle shift." 

"And why's that?" Erik watches the octopus as it watches him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kitty phasing her hand through one tank, giggling daringly over there with Kurt, but says nothing. 

"I thought the rearguard looked a little lonely," Charles shifts his ridiculous bag to his other hip. Erik's beginning to think the bag might actually be a little magical, because every time one of the teenagers complains about something, he seems to have it in there. It was one thing to have water bottles when someone complained of thirst, and aspirin when someone complained about having a headache, but it's a whole other thing when someone complains about how their fur's tangled and you have scissors, a hairbrush, and a cat roller for yourself. He seems to have thought of everything, because everything is in that bag. Erik sort of wants to test the magical bag, test its abilities. 

"The rearguard's just happy to tag along," Erik says idly. He then looks up and sees the group moving and he hastily adds, "Let's keep up."

Charles looks amused. 

Despite being the "middle," Charles keeps pace with him at the end for some time, not talking except to read a caption or admire one of the animals. 

It's peaceful. 

And he could've gone home happy that they had this moment, just walking quietly together, not alone exactly but undisturbed by anyone else for the most part.

But it's his lucky day. 

Raven's not the greatest front guard. 

She gets excited by the touch-tanks and ends up staying and touching everything multiple times, squealing when they move or swim passed her hand. 

Kitty and Kurt get ahead, rushing forward to watch the dolphin feeding.

Scott and Jean seem to naturally sequester themselves away from the rest. The last Charles and Erik see of them is them wandering into a bubble underneath one of the larger displays, both looking ecstatic to be surrounded by fish. Charles snaps a picture before the moment can end. "It's for their wedding video," he says fondly. Erik grins. 

"You're encouraging your students to date each other? Seems a little incestuous."

Charles elbows him, and he laughs. 

The casual touch gives him goosebumps, but he pretends to be nonchalant about it, not wanting to make it weird. 

Bobby, probably intentionally, runs ahead of the group with a giggling trio of girls and a couple of friendly but rather loud guy friends of his. One second they're dutifully staying within earshot of the group, joking about how the crab reminds them of Rogue and the turtle of Tabitha in the mornings, and the next, they're gone as though Kurt had teleported them.

"It's amazing that such a noisy group can manage to sneak off like that," Charles notes dryly. "I guess they can be silent when they're on a mission."

After _they_ leave, the group really deteriorates. 

And Erik thinks this'll upset Charles, and he's resigned to corralling all the kids back into a compact group, but for the moment, the professor doesn't seem particularly upset.  

"My fault for giving Raven the front," he sighs, wondering where she went. 

He'd last seen her watching them feed the penguins. 

She'd had the largest portion of the group with her, maybe a dozen or so kids, all avidly talking to her and deciding among themselves where they wanted to go next. Because Raven is nothing if not an advocate for democracy, soon they vanish, having come to some secret group consensus of where to go next.

So it's just Charles and Erik now. They still have a partial group with them, a handful of students who don't seem to know what to do with themselves and hover in the same exhibit as them until they move on. 

"You...want to go find everyone? We don't really have a meeting place," Erik asks tentatively as the two stand side by side in a tank tunnel, sharks swimming peacefully overhead and on either side, fish swimming between them. 

"I'll call everyone to the same spot when it's time to leave," Charles sighs. He shifts his bag again, and Erik asks him if he wants him to carry that. Charles quirks an eyebrow at him, but hands it to him without comment. 

"...for all the fuss you were making, I would've thought you'd be more upset when your plan unraveled," Erik says cautiously. Their little group is getting further and further away, having gotten bored in the shark tunnel and moving on. They look back, but neither of their chaperones seem to notice them slipping away.

"...Even the best laid plans..." Charles sighs, making a dismissive gesture. "It was bound to happen. It's happened so many times, they just get away from you. I would've been more upset about it..."

"If...?" Erik asks after Charles doesn't finish the sentence for a while, just staring at the underside of a sand shark as it drifts passed them. 

"I don't know," Charles admits. "It would normally upset me a great deal. The thought upset me a lot more on the bus, but for some reason I'm just not upset about it right now. I'll just keep an eye on everyone from where I am, I am a telepath after all."

Erik gives him a look, and a sharp gust of laughter exits his companion's lips, bending his neck forward as he chortles. Erik's terribly distracted by nape of his neck, where he'd used to press his lips back when they'd spent a lot of "recreational" time together. He looks away hastily. 

When he deems it safe to look back, Charles is moving through the tunnel again, and he quickly catches up to him, marveling at how heavy the bag is, and how Charles had held this burden without complaint for so long. They stop near the end of it, neither of them having had their fill yet. 

"Could it be that you just had to disagree with me?" Erik smirks suddenly. 

"Always so blunt," the telepath frowns. "I disagree with you on using your powers for just about every little thing, and I don't believe mutants should go around just showing everyone they're mutants unless it's necessary, but maybe they're not little kids anymore, and if I've taught them right, then they'll make good decisions on their own. I'll give you that one, Erik. I'll even admit it too, which is something you never do."

"I've admitted you've had a point before!"

"I can't think of a single time," Charles gives him a disbelieving look. 

"I...I know I have..."

"Give me an example. I'll even go easy on you, it doesn't even have to be recent. Go on, give me an example of you budging and admitting that I at least had a  _point."_

Erik suddenly finds the next room a very appealing destination. 

Charles is snickering as he follows him to it. 

No sign of their own group.

It really is just them. 

They pass through the quiet murmuring darkness, only occasionally glancing up to make sure the other isn't falling behind. 

"I was just kidding, you know," Charles says suddenly, Erik automatically stopping to hear him better and forcing him to stop too. "I'll take the bag back, if you don't want to be saddled with it."

"It's no trouble," Erik shrugs. "It's not heavy."

It's actually cutting into his shoulder and he can feel the ache building up in his neck, but he keeps the discomfort out of his voice as he talks. Partly because he doesn't want Charles to take the bag back, because he can't in good conscience give him his bag back now that he knows what it feels like, and partly because, for a much pettier reason, he doesn't want to look too weak to handle Charles' magic bag of necessaries. 

"Liar," Charles rolls his eyes. 

Oh yeah. 

**Mindreader.**

"How can you forget that at any moment of the day?" Charles grins. 

"I don't know. I just do now," Erik lets the bag drop with a sigh of relief, seeing that he has no intention of moving. He takes a look at the exhibit they're stopped at. 

Oh. 

A manta-ray floats before them, casting a shadow over the little fish darting underneath it. As it passes, he can see the artificial reef, all of the fish, large and small, all swimming in and out of nooks and crannies and appearing somewhere completely unexpected.

"You never used to," Charles says, his voice tired. So, so tired. Erik looks at him, really looks at him, which he hasn't been able to for a while now, having avoided eye contact during all of their little arguments, their teasing banter, and their casual conversations.

He looks tired too.

But he's still smiling.

"You were always guarded. Or at the very least, very aware of the fact that I could read your mind any time I wanted, whether you told me not to or not. I told you I would never do that without permission. But you didn't believe me," Charles says rather seriously. He meets Erik's gaze, and even though it makes his stomach quiver, Erik doesn't look away.

"You made me uneasy," Erik admits. "I couldn't stop you from reading my mind and violating my privacy. I figured out early on that you wouldn't do that, but I couldn't shake that instinct, I'm sorry."

"You're not still uneasy?" Charles asks.

"Even before we...split, I didn't distrust you, Charles. I just couldn't shake that feeling."

"You've always had a hard time dealing with your feelings, haven't you?" Charles asks, voice a little teasing, but also a little dark, a little bitter. 

"You've always had a hard time not being in control, haven't you?" Erik counters. 

"Hey, I run a house full of mutant kids. Someone needs to be in control!" Charles protests, dissipating some of the tension. 

"I ran a mutant revolution. Someone needed to rally the troops and convert the nonbelievers," Erik says slyly. "We both were suited for the careers we pursued, hm?"

Charles shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "Sure."

"Oh don't be like that, just consider how unusual this is," Erik gestures at the two of them. "We're not fighting, for one thing. You're letting your precious students wander around freely without constantly fretting about it. I'm not...out knocking down buildings or constantly being on guard around you. And here we are. Chaperoning your kids, or at least we're supposed to be, I don't see a kid in sight, but no matter. We're not just getting along, we're cooperating. Without tearing each other's throats, or ideologies, to shreds."

"You sound like you have something you want to say," Charles says wryly.

"Just that...this would've never happened ten years ago," Erik steps forward to get a closer look at a marlin. 

"Are you trying to say we have _grown up_?" the professor snorts. 

"Why is that funny?"

"Because it sounds like we're old, old men reminiscing about our hot and wild days as young men with purpose because here we are, babysitting someone else's kids. And I don't appreciate that-"

"I meant it as a good thing," Erik says exasperatedly. "We...grew into more...more suit-I mean, compatible...people."

Charles' eyebrows shoot up. 

"Interesting choice in words."

"I don't mean it like that, I just mean that... now we're more...we're less..." Erik lets out a gust of laughter, feeling like a schoolboy stuttering during his big presentation. 

"We're more balanced," his companion finally rescues him. "We meet in the middle and compromise. It's slightly better than before where we pretended to meet in the middle and acted as if everything was ok when it wasn't. I wouldn't call us compatible, I don't think that's a good word to describe what we are, but I would call us..."

"Balanced," Erik finishes for him. 

Charles gives him a winning smile. 

"Attaboy."

In the soft blue light, his eyes seem even deeper, richer, flushed with more color. 

Erik wonders what his own look like, then wonders even harder as Charles looks at him quickly, then looks away, seemingly flustered.

"I don't know if balanced is such a great thing..." Erik says as Charles starts to move on, moving up dark stairs up into an artificial cave with fake leaves and vines. There seem to be frogs and snakes and spiders and swamp fish in this exhibit. Erik spots one of their kids exiting just as they enter. He wonders idly if she left because of them or if that was just coincidental. 

"And why's that? Oh lord," Charles shudders as he takes in a massive gray eel swimming lazily in his artificial cave water. 

"He's cute," Erik says. "Reminds me of Logan."

"Logan? Oh, you two get along now," Charles says dismissively, seemingly entranced by the fluid movement of the eel's body through the murky water. He then flinches as an eel he hadn't seen suddenly passes over the other one, right at him. Its beady black eyes seem to follow him everywhere he goes. 

"...on the surface. But he still thinks I'm an asshole."

"Sharp nose, that one," Charles taps his own. Erik half-heartedly shoves his shoulder. 

"But back to what I was saying-"

"Listen, we can't keep dancing around the subject and I don't really want to, as fun as it may be," Charles stalks away, Erik once again readjusting the strap of the bag and hurrying after him to the next exhibit. The telepath crouches, wincing, on his hands and knees, and crawls into a little hole beneath an exhibit. Erik sighs and pries the bag off his shoulder. He laboriously gets on his hands and knees, wincing immediately, as it's not as fun for adults as it is for kids, and follows him. 

He stands up in a bubble alongside Charles, but realizes he's made a mistake. 

The bubble is extremely small, and they're pressed right up against each other. 

And Charles had been turned the same direction he came up in. 

They're nose to nose, surrounded by turtles and marsh fish who're minding their own business. 

Charles make an awkward cough and does a quick 180, as does Erik, their backs pressing against each other instead. 

It's so smooth, looking almost rehearsed, that Erik wants to laugh. 

"You were saying? About not dancing around each other? As I recall, you always liked the chase," Erik says, watching a snapping turtle open and close its mouth for no apparent reason. 

"Is that what you think this is? Is that why you came here?" Charles asks sharply. "I don't want to be with you."

"That's not why I came back," Erik says, although he might not mean it, because even after all they've been through together, all the horrible things they've said, and done, to one another, that still stings at his core. "Although if we're being honest, I entertained the notion..."

"Stop entertaining it," Charles turns at the same time as Erik. 

Face to face again. 

Erik thinks it's worse because they're only slightly different in terms of height. 

It would be so easy to lean down and-

Charles is already on his knees and crawling back out. 

Erik rolls his eyes and follows. 

Charles does a quick mental scan of where everyone is. 

Kitty, Kurt, Rogue, and Ororo seem to have met up and are eating lunch together, good. 

Bobby, Tabitha, Amara, Roberto, and Sam are obsessed with a massive alligator somewhere on the very bottom floor. They're the fastest group, having sped through most of the exhibits without reading much, or stopping to watch all of the little creatures swim, like Raven, who somehow managed to maintain her group. 

No one, to his relief, seems to be alone.

They'd grouped up and stuck together, even though no one had been there to enforce it. 

He's suddenly feeling generous. 

As Erik emerges from the hole, looking absolutely ridiculous on his hands and knees, he gives him a once over. 

"If we're being completely honest now, Erik," he starts, lending him a hand to help him get up. The man groans something about his knees as he straightens up. Charles holds his hand for a moment, not inclined to let go immediately. His fellow chaperone looks amazed. Charles feels his grip tightening slightly before he pulls away, and Erik lets him. "I'm glad you're here."

If he looked amazed before, it's nothing compared to now.

The flash of hope in his worn-face makes Charles want to look away, but he wants to finish what he's saying first. 

"It's...been intere- nice. To have you here. The extra hand is nice. And...it's not...absolutely terrible seeing you in my house again. I actually rather like it. It reminds me of the old days. I'm also very grateful that you've hung around this long, although I'm still curious about how long it can possibly last..."

"Me too," Erik admits. 

Maybe that would've angered a younger Charles, but this one is older. 

He recognizes a wandering spirit when he sees one, and he's made peace with it.

That friction, at least, is gone. 

The acceptance fills Erik's chest with a burning, horribly good-feeling ache. 

"Well, you can stay as long as you want. And leave whenever you want. All I ask is that you tell me," Charles nods at him. "These kids...rather like you. I would hate for you to vanish overnight and have to make up excuses for where you are."

"Just tell them I'm out buying cigarettes," Erik leads this time, taking them up another set of stairs. 

"Very funny."

"Thank you."

But their exchange is forgotten as they're in a massive room completely surrounded by water. 

Walls on both sides are simply made of glass, holding back gallons and gallons of water, containing hundreds of fish, manta-rays, and sharks. 

It's honestly just a little humbling.

Erik imagines they look like the trapped ones, caught in this tiny glass room. 

Thankfully, there's not much of a crowd today, so they're able to sit on the benches and rest for a bit. 

"So you were saying? About how great I am?" Erik asks after he's caught some of his breath back and his knees stop aching quite so fiercely. 

"Is that what I said? I can't remember," Charles feigns forgetfulness as he puts his hand under his chin. Then his face becomes abruptly serious. "But you will tell me, won't you? When you leave?"

"...I don't know," Erik answers honestly. "I want to, but... I don't know if I'd be able to leave if I had to look you in the face and tell you I was leaving."

"You sure? You've done it before," Charles snarks. 

"That was different. I was angry. Now I'm...not angry."

"If you don't think you can tell me because then you won't want to leave, then why not just stay?" Charles asks. 

"... you know the answer to that, Charles." 

"I suppose I do." 

He stands up, and Erik can't see his face, but he gets the distinct impression that he's disappointed.

But he's not heartbroken. 

He'll endure. 

He'll be just fine on his own. 

The little ball of guilt that sometimes plagued him while he was away, the kind of guilt that makes one resent the person who made one feel that way, will at least be reduced. 

There are increasingly less and less negative emotions to deal with around and regarding Charles. 

And that makes it even easier to imagine staying. 

"Ok, just give it to me, you look like you're being forced to march through the jungles of Cameroon with a fifty pound bag of bricks on your back, give it to me." 

Charles' fingers brush against his shoulder as he grabs the strap, his chest just barely brushing against his as he pulls it over his head and takes it back. 

He pulls it over his shoulder and makes to leave, but Erik grabs the strap and holds him back. 

"What are you doing?" Charles gives him that quizzical, but slightly amused face again. He turns around as Erik lets go, facing him again. 

Erik fiddles with the strap again, taking a hold of it and supporting the entire weight of the bag himself, the strap the only weight Charles is bearing. 

"This is ridiculous, you know," Erik says quietly. He pulls slightly, and Charles lets himself to be pulled closer to him, against his better judgement. "The bag, I mean."

"Not just the bag," Charles says. 

"No, not just that either. You said you didn't want to 'be with me' at all, right?"

"That is correct."

"Not at all?"

"...not at all."

"Well, I don't believe you. I've been completely honest with you, and you've not been completely honest with me." Erik lets go of the bag, but then his hand touches Charles' shoulder, lingering carefully as he makes to pull the strap off of him and take ownership of the weight again. "And I know you haven't, because I still know you well enough after all these years to know that when you're being honest, you'll speak slowly. You almost hissed that you didn't want to be with me. So what's the full truth, my old friend?"

"The full truth? That would take hours and a full dissertation to undergo," Charles groans. 

"Ok. Then the simple truth. Can you do that, professor? Dumb it down for the laymen?"

"Hm, I can tell you in Erik-speak," the professor sighs. Then chuckles as Erik pulls out a flashlight and shines it on him. "Erik, what are you doing?"

"The lights are on you. Talk."

"The very simple truth...about whether or not I also have 'entertained the notion...' is yes. I've entertained the notion. Maybe. Late at night. After a couple of glasses of wine. But the answer to the question 'do I want to be with you again...' well, the answer's the same as your answer to my question about whether you'll tell me before you leave."

"You don't know," Erik says. 

"I don't know," Charles affirms. 

"Well I can live with that," Erik sets the pace as they leave the marvelous room in the middle of the ocean. "I can understand that. Do let me know if you ever have an answer though." 

He suddenly feels Charles' hand abruptly come down on his shoulder, and he's spun around, once again face to face with his shorter colleague, who's suddenly looking a little wild. 

"Wha-?"

His words are cut off, his head gently being pulled down, as Charles threads his hand in his hair and pulls him down into a kiss. 

It's nothing like the kisses they used to share, sharp and passionate and leaving both of them breathless and aching for other things, the kinds that made their knees buckle and sent them tumbling into the nearest available soft surface; in fact, it's rather slow, because Charles seems nervous, unsure of this familiar, but still largely unknown territory. His tongue could probably still map out the familiar space of his former lover's mouth, but it hesitates, tentatively, for Erik to respond. Which he does, resisting the urge to go all in, and matching his pace,  going slowly, letting their mouths simply press together, their tongues push gently passed one another.  

He forgot how good Charles' hand in his hair feels. 

He pulls just a little harder, making Erik come down closer, kiss him just a little deeper, and the slight decrease in distance is enough to make all the difference. Suddenly Erik's a teenage boy again, and this is his first kiss, full of fireworks and clumsy, but eager exploration between two people madly fascinated by one another. It's not the same as it used to be, but that's ok. Better than ok, actually. Charles' other hand is on his chest, right over his heart, and maybe he can feel it pumping harder, excited, ecstatic even, to share this space and time with someone he lo- cared about a great deal. 

He puts his hand on Charles' back, a little lower than he maybe should, because he feels Charles tense, but he can't help it, can't help it, every nerve is on fire, they've done so much  _worse_ than this, they've been intimate before, but this time, after such a long time of not even being able to look at one another without a sharp sense of betrayal and icy distance, feels like the first time. But at the same time, not exactly like the first time, because even with the years that have passed between them, they still have a natural sense of what the other likes, still possessing the experience and knowledge of the other person's preferences. 

But regrettably, he doesn't get to exercise much of his experience, because even though it feels like hours, like a wordless conversation between two people with a complicated relationship that needed to have a talk, the kind that goes deep into the night and bares all, Charles is really only kissing him for seven seconds, at most. 

He pulls away, looking around furtively. 

There's a young woman who skirts around them, a furious blush on her face, and a mother with a small daughter, who looks scandalized and rushes passed them, but for the most part, they're alone in this dark tunnel, lit only by the blue-tinted light from the room adjacent.

"I'll let you know when I have an answer simple enough for you," Charles says simply.

 **Only as long as you promise you'll let me know when _you_ know the answer to  _my_ question, Erik Lehnsherr.** 

Erik, a little dazed, just stands in the tunnel, lost, watching Charles advance to the stairs leading to the next exhibit, his back no longer rejection but invitation to follow.

 **Yes, sir.**  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I think I've been spelling Erik's last name wrong all of this time and NONE of you told me. 
> 
> Do you like watching me make a fool out of myself, does it bring you JOY? 
> 
> ...it's even funnier when you remember that the archive tag literally has his name right there. 
> 
> I misspelled his name and it's RIGHT there. 
> 
> I'm going to go retreat in shame now, I hope you liked the chapter and could get over the fact that I spelled Lehnsherr with the silent h without a silent h.


	10. In Which Charles Has a Teensy Bit of Appreciation for Erik's Being Here But Don't Believe For a Second That He Wouldn't Be Ok If He Was Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys see that Graham Norton episode with Michael Fassbender and Mark Wahlberg?
> 
> Holy crap is Mark loud. Poor Michael laughs it off, he's a gentleman, but I'm amazed no one punched the guy- well actually, no I'm not, Mark's known for hitting back. 
> 
> Hard.

It's not an arboretum, not exactly, but a huge exhibit for frogs, butterflies, pond fish, and a variety of plants. 

There are colorful flowers all along the pathway, the twisting, roller coaster walkway that circles and doubles back through the man-made forest. 

Although it's all very impressive, the most stunning aspect of this particular exhibit is the butterflies, bright blue, orange, and green, flying weightlessly through the thick, artificially muggy air. 

And although they flutter about quite exuberantly, colorful and energetic, bright and unafraid of their visitors, causing the children and adults alike to ooh and aah, they just can't quite compare to the ones in Erik's stomach as he and Charles walk side by side through a throng of families.

This seems to be the aquarium's newest attraction, or at least its most popular one.

They meet up with a pouting Kitty Pryde and a laughing Kurt Wagner, who seem to have had some spat they don't want to talk about, and Bobby and Rogue, who have a spat they very much want to talk about ("Professor, he thought it would be funny to freeze my shoelaces together-""Totally not true, Captain, it was an accident!"), and one of the younger students, possibly nine or ten, who's only identifiable to Erik by her bright wristband.

She giggles as a butterfly lands on her sneakers. She looks up, delighted, and meets Erik's eye. He can't help it; he smiles warmly at her, all of his jittery happiness shining through.

She looks positively terrified and as soon as the butterfly takes flight, she turns and walks away rather quickly.

"Shut up," Erik grumbles at Charles, who'd seen the whole thing and was laughing so hard he actually had to grab the railing to keep himself up.

"Y-your face-oh my go-"

"What's wrong with my face?" the taller mutant grumbles as the professor finally straightens up and smooths his hair.

"N-nothing, darling, you're lovely," the professor says breathlessly. "Very aesthetically pleasing. But when you smile, and it's quite a pleasant smile, don't get me wrong...you look like you're about to eat someone. Like...children from Amity Island, specifically."

"Oh that's very clever. A reference, hm? You think I'm too old for references?"

"I wasn't sure if you'd seen that movie, you were on the run at the time..."

"Well I definitely wouldn't have seen it in jail," Erik shrugs. 

They linger in this exhibit for a while, watching the fish swim lazily about, the butterflies open and close their wings, the children as they argue in furious whispers.  

"You think you'll have to intervene?" Erik leans over and whispers. 

"They have to resolve their disputes and develop their conflict resolution skills on their own. I can't always be their mediator," Charles whispers back. "Besides, they'll be back to normal by tomorrow, kids are surprisingly forgiving."

"You know, they're teenagers, not kids. Teenagers hold grudges." They hold onto the railing, but the woman in front of Charles stops abruptly, and he does too so as not to walk into her. Erik walks into his back and he's very tempted to grab his hand. But the urge passes, and he reluctantly watches Charles' hand come off the railing, and jump into his pocket. 

"They're friends. Friends will forgive one another."

His voice was casual, but as it pauses, he seems to realize the deeper implication of what he said. 

"Well. Their grievances are trivial," he says with a lighter voice. "I don't know how easily they could come back if they ever had a serious...disagreement." 

"Well...I don't know if it would be easy," Erik says slowly. "But it's possible, at any rate."

Charles' hand comes out of his pocket and he turns back, without looking, and covers Erik's hand for a moment. 

"I'm glad," he says simply. "They need one another." 

* * *

 Charles does a quick scan of the building as they take the elevator down to the main floor. 

Most of the kids seem to be crowded at the gift shop. 

Raven's not there, not yet, since she and her group are all in the IMAX theater finishing a movie about the migration of whales. When Charles asks, she mentally responds saying that they'll be out in thirty. 

They sit on the bench outside of the gift shop, the men's and women's bathrooms on either side. 

The kids explore the gift shop, picking up souvenirs and playing with them, laughing to one another with little bobble heads and alligator heads on sticks that open and close their mouths by squeezing their handles and stuffed animals and educational books and the usual "I heart (insert location)" tourist shirts. 

The two adults watch them, almost identical little grins on their faces as they slouch on the uncomfortable wooden bench. 

"There are some quality things in there," Charles cranes his neck looking over the display shelves. " _Mammal Hibernation, The Life Cycle of the North Atlantic Bottle-nose Dolphin, The Past and Present State of the Pacific Garbage Patch, Gyre Peril-"_

"The most adorable dolphin plushie I've ever seen," Erik smirks as he sees Amara cuddling a stuffed animal. "Do they have their own money?"

"I told them to bring some for snacks or anything they might need."

"And what if they don't have enough money for the things they want? Do you have any money on you?"

"I do, but I won't buy them something they don't need," Charles replies. 

"What a stingy mother you are," Erik rolls his eyes. 

"I don't spoil them, Erik, it breeds poor behavior and work ethic and a lack of appreciation for money."

"Alright, alright, alright," his fellow chaperone gestures dismissively. "A little hypocritical, considering, well..."

"Considering what?" Charles asks, a little miffed, turning to his right to look at Erik, his hand dangerously close to Erik's face when the man turns to look at him as well. 

"Um..."

"You think I'm spoiled?" the professor asks, although it's almost a statement the way he says it. 

"I mean..."

Charles lets out a great sigh. 

"If I were a younger man, I might take offense."

"But your bones are too creaky and your joints are too rusty now?" Erik teases. 

"Well... I read minds, Erik. I know what other people think about me. I always have. People smile and shake my hand as they call me a douche bag in their minds. This is hardly the first time I've been called 'spoiled.' Hell, I've been called worse. You grow a thick skin, you know, you come to brush off the insults they'll never say to your face. And coming from you? I think 'spoiled' is rather warranted. Understandable, you could say."

"Well..." Erik pushes hastily at his hair, his fingers scratching a little awkwardly. "I don't actually mean that. That was just a quick response. I don't think you're spoiled. I mean. I don't think it...I don't think you're worse off for it."

"Oh ho? Care to tell me more about that? I don't believe you've ever told me this before."

"I just mean...you're rich, you always have been, but you never let it get to your head. You've never thought you were better than anyone else. And what did you do with the enormous grand mansion that you inherited? Made it a home for outcasts, for mutants like you and me, and used your affluence to teach and take care of children." 

"Hm, well, rich people don't just put their fingers together laughing maniacally as they plan to take over Wall Street," Charles says humorously. "Some of us have academic and spiritual pursuits."

"Seriously, Charles. When we met, I'd never known people who used their privilege to help others...who were generous with their power and affluence and didn't merely use it to better their own situations." 

"No..you definitely haven't ever told me that before," Charles murmurs, breaking eye contact to watch as someone shoves the bathroom door open, almost hitting him in the side of the head. He leans away from the bathroom door, but doesn't look back at him. Erik follows his gaze and sees he's watching Kitty showing Jean a necklace she'd just purchased. "In fact, I always thought my...naivete as a privileged wealthy guy whose hardships were limited to the abuse of my stepbrother and emotionally distant mother annoyed you more than anything." 

"No, it was never that simple... it was partially the fact that you've-I mean, that you  _had_ never seen the worst of humanity. And you assumed the best of it, where I always assumed the worst of it-"

"Reasonable, considering what you'd been through, Erik," Charles shakes his head.

"Sure. But I was too young when we met to appreciate your side of things. There's something to be said about being optimistic and having faith in people. In..your method."

"Erik, Erik," Charles says, his voice both uneasy and playful. "You've been at the mansion for too long, your mind's gone to mush. You'd never admit there was any merit in my 'method.'" 

"No, not mush, just your philosophy," Erik smirks. "I've seen what you've done at the Institute, with all these great kids, what you've taught them, how you've taken care of them. And while I'll never quite be taken with pacifism-"

"And if you ever are, I'll assume some sort of alien parasite has taken over you-"

"I'll-" Erik ignores his interjection, "-I'll at least admit that it's one of your...best qualities."

Charles' hand once again covers his, his palm warm and soft over his knuckles. 

"You little flirt," he says affectionately. "And here I was thinking my best quality was my clear-blue eyes or my perfect complexion or my winning smile that doesn't scare children."

"Ok, I take it back, being spoiled has clearly blinded you to the truth."

"And what truth is that?"

"That you're half as charming as you think you are, Charles." 

"You can't lie to me, not right now, Erik. You're charmed. Admit it," Charles laughs, letting go of his hand finally. 

"...why make me admit it when you know it?" Erik's so tempted to hold his neck, run his thumb over the side of his throat, feel his pulse twitch under his touch, pull him close enough to kiss again, and he's doing it, it's just like he's imagined, and Charles looks surprised, but as he plays out the part of his fantasy where he pulls him close, he hears a tsk. 

"This is a family museum," Raven scolds them, but her face is split into a giddy grin. "You two ready to go?"

"Are _they_?" Charles fiddles with his collar, straightening his jacket as though Erik had messed with it, even though he'd only lightly touched his neck. Despite earlier assertions that as a mind reader, he's developed a thick skin and is impervious to others' views of him, he seems embarrassed. 

Like a schoolboy caught pushing a chair against the fridge to get the cookies his mother had saved for the party. 

Erik's not sure where the scenario came from; all he can think of is how Charles looking like a pouting, defensive child, erasing ten years of sorrow off his face, is the greatest thing he's seen this year. 

Maybe in the last decade. 

"They will be, I'll go hurry it along-"

"There's no rush," Charles waves her off. 

"Oh? Was there something you wanted to see?" Raven asks, her eyes flitting to Erik mischievously. "Something you couldn't see at  _home,_ perhaps, in the master bedroom, professor?"

"Not here," Charles grumbles. "And not now, Raven."

"Hm. Ok. But I'll be talking to you later," she looks hard at Erik. "And you."

Both men groan. 

As the bus rolls in, Charles does a headcount and then does a quick scan of the building looking for any stray mutant kids. There are a few mutants in the building, but none are his, although he does sense some unusual ones in there that spark his interest. 

"Anyone in there who shouldn't be?" Erik asks. 

"I'm concentrating."

"Hm," Erik hums. "Well I'll go help Raven with crowd control." 

Charles blinks, relieved that they seem to have gotten everyone back in one place, and scrambles after Erik onto the bus, greeting the driver politely. 

"Well...the building is still intact...everyone's on the bus...and no one was injured," Charles sighs in relief as he plops down next to Erik. 

Who looks pleased. 

"A successful Xavier Institute field trip," Raven cheers. The kids cheer with her, just because they like to make noise. 

"They do happen occasionally," Charles grins wryly. 

"Was it because I was here?" Erik asks. 

**You'd like that, wouldn't you?**

Erik feels a jolt of excitement; his mental voice is joyful, so cheerful and open that he has to resist a shiver at the weight of it, the feeling of it in his mind. 

"Only if it's true." 

 **I don't know about successful. But it was certainly one of the most fun trips we've ever had. And that was certainly thanks to you... I guess,** Charles adds frivolously. 

"You guess? Is that the best I'm going to get?" 

**That's up to you, Erik.**

"That sounds like a challenge,  _Chuck."_

**It's not, actually. I'm really just glad you're here.**

That last sentence seemed like an accident because Charles suddenly looks embarrassed and has his gaze firmly planted out the window as the bus begins to move. 

"Well..."

_I'm glad I could be of some help._

_"_ You're going to make me regret saying that, aren't you?" Charles snorts. 

"Technically you never said it, you copped out," Erik taps his temple. 

"That's the only way you're ever going to hear it from me," the professor retorts. 

"I'll take it." 

_I liked it better that way, actually, Charles._

He's not sure if Charles is still listening, but he should be, he's close, he's so close, their arms are brushing and he's not pulling away, he could grab his hand-

And he is, but Charles isn't pulling away, he's squeezing back. 

_We were never this comfortable talking telepathically, were we?_

_We've never been this honest, have we?_

_And it chafes, it rubs us the wrong way, but it's progress, isn't it?_

_Charles..._

**I'm listening.**

_Thank you._

_Thank you for keeping an open mind._

Charles rolls his eyes, but there's a small smile on his face, and he doesn't let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like...this fanfic's version of Charles and Erik is like when they're older and too mature to be driven to fist fights or brash arguments. Like this Charles is somewhere beyond McAvoy and Stewart, he's still snarky and sarcastic, but he's wiser and more fatherly and less easy to draw into petty arguments, since he lives in a house full of teenagers. And Erik's not quite so angry and easy to incite. I feel like...Ian McKellen was just as passionate as the young, Fassbender Magneto, but because he's old and experienced, his anger comes across more like a tsunami than a tornado. If that makes sense. It's there, but it comes out slow and powerful, not fast and explosive. 
> 
> But if we pretend Erik's become tired of being angry, as people sometimes do, and he just wants to make amends with an old friend, then we can assume that while he'll still prod at Charles, still rile him up...but it'll never get as vicious as we can imagine it might've gotten in the past. They're not young anymore, they're more sedate, more willing to allow the other to believe what they must. They don't...compromise with one another, exactly, just accept each other more. 
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> I like snarky but tired Cherik. 
> 
> Hot and wild on-each-other-like-flies-to-honey Cherik is nice too, but me, well, I needed some old and slow grow middle-aged together Cherik, so I gave it to myself. 
> 
> And to any of you who've hung on this long, I guess. 
> 
> Sorry this is so short, but I wanted to have the direct aftermath of the last scene...but the next scene I have in mind can't be written in the same chapter, so...yeah.


End file.
